


what a lovely way to burn

by john1513, under_a_linden_tree



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Ballroom Dancing, Budding Love, Community: Do It With Style Events, Dancer Aziraphale, Dancer Crowley (Good Omens), Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Developing Friendships, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Fanart, Happy Ending, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Male Aziraphale (Good Omens), Male Crowley (Good Omens), Mechanic Crowley (Good Omens), Miscommunication, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Rivals to Lovers, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, dancing au, oh my god they were dancing partners, waiter Aziraphale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29064186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/john1513/pseuds/john1513, https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_linden_tree/pseuds/under_a_linden_tree
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley are two opposites in their respective worlds; Aziraphale is a well-known traditional dancer whose waltz can hypnotize, and Crowley is an up-and-comer in the lindy-hop rock-n-roll arena whose flips and jumps absolutely dazzle. They’re acquaintances, then rivals, but is there a chance they might actually get along once fate brings them together? Maybe they could learn a thing or two from each other, after all. Just maybe they’re not as different as they seem.
Relationships: Anathema Device/Newton Pulsifer, Aziraphale & Madame Tracy (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley & Anathema Device, Sergeant Shadwell/Madame Tracy (Good Omens)
Comments: 60
Kudos: 59
Collections: Do It With Style Good Omens Reverse Bang, Good Omens Human AUs





	1. it's a sin

**Author's Note:**

> hey y’all!! told you i’d be back soon ;) i’ve been working on this story for some time now, and i’m so excited to finally bring it to you!!  
> this work is part of the do it with style reverse bang event, a good omens event in which an artist creates a work that then inspires a written work, and the pair works together to bring you this lovely cohesive thing we created!! this is my very first time participating in any sort of event, and I had the wonderful honor of being paired with the lovely @under_a_linden_tree for this event! Thank you for working with me dear!! And for providing the wonderful art for this story, a playlist on which the story is based on, along with some LOVELY cover art to boot. I hope y’all like reading this story as much as i enjoyed working on it!
> 
> Here's the playlist: ;)  
> [what a lovely way to burn](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1n42E8njlgdP4jepE42lpT)

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\----------------------

CHAPTER 1

_1949_

_Take away the breath of flowers,_

_It would surely be a sin,_

_Take the rain from April showers,_

_It's a sin…_

Aziraphale’s hands were pruny and damp, mindlessly dragging a soaked rag across the diner tables, the neon lighting bouncing off the reflective surfaces in an atmospheric way that comforted Aziraphale on quiet nights like these. This was his life: late nights working at the diner, lights making a quiet buzzing noise that resonated with the crooning coming from the jukebox. He knew all the songs front and backwards as they were played over and over again, night after night. The machine was losing its tune, just a bit, with such heavy use, and so the music sometimes sounded a little staticky or even a little off, like listening from inside of a dream.

Some young couple had been in the diner just about a half hour ago, and they had inserted several coins into the machine to keep the music going. But they had left before the music ended, leaving Aziraphale to listen and mutter along the words as he cleaned up after them. He’d wipe the seats, and the table. He’d clear it of glasses that once held heavy milkshakes, he’d pick up the empty baskets of fries, the crumpled up napkins. Then he’d head to the back and wash all the dishes, ready for the next diners to come in. He’d wait on them, and he’d serve them, and then he’d clean up after them.

It was the same every day, and it was almost nice in its mindlessness. Although, he did get some nasty customers sometimes, ones that were rude to him or that looked down on him. He didn’t like that. But he stayed for the money, because he needed the job and it was easy, and also for the music. All day it was gentle tunes and soft voices, music that filled his ears and moved him, night after night.

“ _Take away the violins, dear, from a lovely symphony...and the music deep within, would cease to be,_ ” he sang, a bit more loudly now that the place was alone, and he let his body sway gently as the music rang on, echoing around the empty and otherwise quiet building. He balanced a group of plates on his arm along with some glasses, and felt his foot began to tap to the beat, his hips begin to cant sideways, his spine to elongate into a dancer’s pose.

“ _Is it a sin to love you so_ ,” he whispered, and closed his eyes gently, before a loud voice right behind him startled him.

“I wouldn’t say so,” the voice purred, eliciting a thick gasp and an instinctive jump backwards from the waiter, and as Aziraphale turned around he felt one of the glasses that was previously balanced precariously over a plate topple off and sail right towards the floor. He felt his stomach lurch as he watched it fall, knowing that the cost of a broken glass would come out of his paycheck, and likely more for the ‘inconvenience’ for his boss. His boss was...unsympathetic.

However, he felt a quick rush of relief as the man swooped elegantly to catch the glass in midair, cradling it in his long fingers before it could crash on the floor.

“I’m...I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale stuttered, finally looking from the glass in the man’s hand up to his face, struck by the light amber eyes that widened before his, the shock of dark red hair framing the man’s sharp cheekbones and rigid jawline. He was a vision.

“No, I,” the man started, seemingly just as shocked as Aziraphale, and shaking himself to recover from the initial surprise. “No, it’s my fault, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Oh, you didn’t. I mean, you did, but it’s...well, it’s alright. So.” Aziraphale scanned the man’s face, absolutely taken with the face just inches in front of his, watching the man watch him back. It was a good long second before Aziraphale’s brain caught up, and he startled back into motion. “I’m sorry, please, I’ll take that,” he said, taking the glass back from the man’s hand, fingers grazing dangerously as he did, and balancing it back carefully on the pile in his arms. “And please take a seat, I’ll be right with you.” He hurried back to the kitchen without a second glance, leaving the man to stand there awkwardly until Aziraphale heard him carefully slide into one of the booths close to the jukebox. Aziraphale hurried to set the dirty dishes in the sink, and he straightened his apron with purpose before heading back out with a menu.

“Ah, yes, hello. Welcome to, uh, welcome to the Heavenly Diner, how may I help you?” Aziraphale set a glistening menu in front of the man, now seated in the booth looking less shocked, a bit more at ease. He blinked up at Aziraphale’s face and chuckled for some reason.

“Erm,” the man said eloquently. “I, uh, coffee to start please. Black.”

“Of course! Are you, um, are you waiting for anyone?”

Crowley looked around, realizing for the first time how empty the diner currently was, and how suddenly quiet. “The music’s stopped.”

“Ah, yes. That’ll be..that’ll be the jukebox. It needs a coin but it’s run out, so.”

“Oh.” They both watched each other quietly for a beat. “It was a...nice song.”

“Well, I could---just don’t tell my boss, or rather I guess if you wanted to, you could, but uh---”

“Yes?”

“Sorry, uh, here.” Aziraphale wrung his hands for a second, before making his way over to the jukebox, fiddling with the cables a bit behind it and then pressing a variety of buttons loudly. He could feel the man’s careful gaze on his back, and felt his face run a little hot as he bent over to reach behind the jukebox, careful to keep his shirt from rucking up in the back. “There,” he murmured, as the music started back up suddenly with an abrupt noise of melodic violins and crooning once again. “It’s a little trick I discovered, it only works sometimes but...sometimes I can get the jukebox to play without a coin, and I can listen for a bit while people aren’t in the diner. Although it does tend to...get stuck on a song, so I hope you really did like that song. You might be listening to it for a while,” Aziraphale rambled. “O-or if you don’t, I could just, I think I’ve got a coin here somewhere and I could---”

“Angel,” the man said, and Aziraphale felt his face go very, very hot. “It’s fine. I do like this song.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale stood there for a long moment. Angel. It sounded so soft, from a mouth like that. “Well. I’ll go get your coffee, then.”

Aziraphale walked slowly around the bar, feeling the way the other man’s eyes followed until he disappeared behind the counter, and he could hear the jukebox pick up again, the same song that had been playing when the man had walked in.

“ _Is it a sin to love you so, to hold you close, and know you are leaving_ ,” Aziraphale sighed as he poured out the remaining coffee that had already gone cold in its pot, and set about making a new one. The least he could do was make the man a cup of coffee that wasn’t cold and congealed, even if he would likely have to toss out the rest after the man had left. He set about washing some dishes while the pot slowly refilled, and as soon it started sputtering, he wiped his hands dry and rucked up his sleeves to head back out, nearly burning his wrist when a bit sloshed out of the top in his haste to the table.

“Here we go, dear,” he said quickly as he poured the hot black liquid into the white little mug on the man’s table, and if he’d been watching the man instead of the mug, he may have noticed the pink flush that appeared on his cheekbones at the slipped endearment. “Can I get you anything else?”

The man stared for a beat too long, enough for Aziraphale to begin to worry. He couldn't help but notice the man was very, very, _very_ handsome. It was impossible not to notice. “Are you the only one working today?”

“Ah, yes, I am.” Aziraphale responded honestly, glancing at the empty kitchen behind him. “It’s usually a really slow night, so. No need for more than one tonight.”

“So if I order something, you’ll leave again?”

Aziraphale’s brows furrowed. “Erm, well, yes. I’d just be in the back, though, cooking.”

“Then no. I don’t want anything. Will you, uh, will you sit with me?”

Aziraphale blinked. “S-sorry?”

“So apologetic,” the man said, a little smirk growing on his face as he suddenly settled into the booth all at once, wrapping an arm around the backrest of the plastic seating. “Apology accepted. Sit with me, c’mon. No one else to wait on. Might as well.”

Aziraphale looked around the diner, and was suddenly nervous at its emptiness. He couldn’t help but grow suspicious, a bit. What could _this_ man want with him?

He sat reluctantly across from him.

“Crowley.”

“Mm?”

“My name. Crowley. What’s yours?”

“Erm. Aziraphale.”

“That’s wonderful. A wonderful name, I mean.”

Aziraphale swallowed nervously. “A mouthful, too, I know.”

“No--well, yes, but it’s nice. Really.” He thought for a second and said under his breath, almost incomprehensibly, “An angel at Heavenly Diner, that’s funny.”

“Hm?” Aziraphale strained to listen, knowing he must have heard wrong.

He cleared his throat. “I said, how long have you worked here?”

Aziraphale stared at the man, at his relaxed posture, melted into the seats impossibly so, and also the stiff way in which he lifted the hot mug to his thin lips, as if despite appearances the man was tense, watchful.

“Why do you want to know?” Aziraphale asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Relax, I’m only curious. I’ve never been here before. Kind of a hole in the wall place, I’d never have noticed it before.”

“So then,” Aziraphale couldn’t help but be drawn in slowly to the conversation, like prey to a predator, “How did you happen to come in today?”

The man, Crowley, lit up unreasonably so at the question. “I’ve got a new car! She’s lovely. See, I’m from the other side of town and I used to walk everywhere. But I’ve been saving up, and I finally got a car and I’ve been drivin’ it around, and she’s...I mean it’s an older car, I couldn’t afford anything newer, but she’s...she’s something. I mean it.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the obvious passion and excitement of the man before him, and found himself enchanted with the way his eyes seemed just a little brighter, his smile stretching his face beautifully. What a smile, truly.

Crowley continued. “But I would have made it here ages ago if I had known this place was here.”

Aziraphale chuckled despite himself. “Coffee’s not _that_ good.”

“It isn’t, sorry.” Crowley laughed and stared with purpose across the table, and Aziraphale could feel uncertainty bristle under his skin.

“So, for the…music?”

Crowley smiled deeply. “The music’s pretty good. The dancing was nice.” Aziraphale felt his face flush a hot deep red and his mind reeled, trying to recall exactly what he’d been doing before Crowley had arrived, and just how much he’d possibly seen. His mouth popped open to respond, still not quite sure what would even spill out of his mouth, but was beaten to it. “Maybe we could...you know, you and I? Could go...dancing, or...something?”

Aziraphale’s mouth snapped closed and he blinked in astonishment.

Crowley continued nervously. “Could show you the Bentley. She’s---or we could go somewhere, you pick. Anything.” As he spoke, he wormed a hand across the gleaming surface of the table, and Aziraphale hadn’t noticed the movement until he felt a finger brush against the side of his hands resting on the surface of the table and he looked down with a sharp intake of breath at the warm skin touching, Crowley’s finger purposefully grazing against his own. Aziraphale could hear the music surge in the lingering silence.

‘ _Though you take away my heart, dear, still the beating there within…’_

Aziraphale snapped his head back, and scanned the man’s face with a rush of confusion. No way. No way a man this beautiful was...flirting with him? Aziraphale took in the tousled red hair, perpetually looking like someone had been running their fingers through it. The man was wearing a simple short sleeved shirt, tight on his body, and a leather jacket that had probably seen better days. The man had freckles if you looked hard enough, and dimples when he smiled just right. Aziraphale’s heart fluttered as he took in the sight of him, staring him down, eyes betraying some unknown emotions that Aziraphale couldn’t place.

Aziraphale could love him, he thought. He could. The thought cleared his head with a shock.

And then it hit him, of course. No way Crowley was flirting.

Not with him.

“You’re teasing me.” Aziraphale murmured, and pulled his hands back sharply. “You think this is funny, don’t you? Messing with the waiter.”

“Wait, what? Angel---”

“Do _not_ call me that,” Aziraphale said, standing up roughly, nearly losing his balance as he adjusted his apron over his legs. He was sure he looked the complete opposite of the boy, messy blonde curls, round face, rage-red cheeks. His apron was dirty, and his sleeves were dirty, and his shoes were dirty, and he looked like just another faceless waiter, nothing like this boy, nothing like him at all. “You don’t know me. Go find some other place to torment, please leave.”

Crowley was standing too, a minute vibration running through his body, anxiety or anger, it was hard to tell. “To _torment_? Oh, am I _tormenting_ you?” He was huffing loudly now, raising his hands in the air and making complicated, vague motions with them. “You know what, screw you, _angel_. Or Aziraphale, that better? That’s what I get for being nice now, isn’t it?” He picked up the mug with a shaky hand and drank the rest all in one loud gulp, Aziraphale infuriatingly following the tilt of his head, the stretch of his thick neck, the motion of his Adam’s apple. The man slammed the mug down onto the table and yanked out his wallet, searching for some change.

“Don’t,” Aziraphale said, letting the conflicting emotions tint his voice. “Coffee’s on the house. For the...for the glass. We’re even, then.”

Crowley looked up in exasperation, a bill already crumpled in his hand, and softened as he took in the glistening eyes of the waiter, the steely resolve of his pressed-thin lips. He opened his mouth to say something, anything, this wasn’t how it was meant to go, before---

“Please just go. I hope you find some pretty girl to drive around in your nice new car, alright?”

Crowley’s anger resurfaced, and he slammed the money down harshly. “You know, maybe I will. And I’d hate to be in your debt, _angel_. There. And have a _wonderful_ evening,” he added, glancing around the empty diner. He shrugged his jacket a bit closer around his shoulders and left the diner abruptly, shivering in the sudden cold, and made it all the way to his car and back home before he’d even realized it. He felt angry, and he felt guilty, and he felt confused. It had all gone sideways so quickly and he couldn’t quite place what it was he had said or done. But he couldn’t get that little frown off his mind no matter how hard he tried, those glistening, china-blue eyes.

Meanwhile, at the diner Aziraphale sniffed and took in the empty diner once again. He wiped his eyes quickly. He straightened his posture, and he picked up his damp rag, and he got back to cleaning. Wiping down, and picking up, and putting away. And he could hear the music still, a melancholy undercurrent to his thoughts.

‘ _I'll keep loving you forever, for it's no sin..._ ’

\----------------------

_1953_

“Tracy, I’m just not sure if---”

“Oh, nonsense, dearie. You’ll be just fine.” Tracy tugged on the arm linked around hers forward on the pavement, her bright red kitten heels making a beautiful clacking sound that resonated all down the street. Aziraphale tugged hard on the tweed vest that hugged his curves tightly, and he could feel the scratchy wool of his suit jacket rubbing against the crooks of his elbows.

“Tracy, just---maybe,” he started again.

“Aziraphale,” Tracy chided, and the startling red of her lipstick became exaggerated as she pouted her lips dramatically, a sharp contrast to her pale face and bright, clear eyes. The red was a dramatic echo of her bright red overcoat, hiding a gorgeous swoop-neck cocktail dress she’d saved for just this occasion. Aziraphale knew this, and felt a stab of guilt at the thought. “ _Weeks_ , I’ve been waiting for this party to happen, and you _promised_ \---”

“I did, I know---”

“You _promised_ you’d make it out to this one party. You’d leave me to face this dashing party alone? Without my partner?”

Aziraphale’s cheeks felt warm. “Of course I wouldn’t. I just...you know I’m no good at parties. Not when I’m not dancing. I’m…”

Tracy watched carefully as a pained expression fell over Aziraphale’s face. “You’re wonderful, darling. And we can dance later, yes? Maybe they’ll play our song.”

Aziraphale laughed under his breath, and heaved a heavy, petulant sigh. “Yes, alright, Tracy. You’re right, anyway.”

“Oh, I am, am I?” Her lips twisted playfully.

“Yes. You really would be lost without your dance partner.”

Tracy reached her other hand up to give a motherly squeeze at Aziraphale’s bent elbow, and gave him a flashing smile. “Alright, then. Onwards, dear.”

Aziraphale looked up at the heavy, steel door before them in trepidation and felt a frantic little fluttering at the bottom of his stomach. “Yes. Onwards.”

Aziraphale stepped forward to tug on the frigid metal handle, only to reveal a set of dingy, concrete steps that lead downwards. Aziraphale extended a hand gingerly to assist Tracy as she took a careful step downwards, and he followed behind her, letting the door slam loudly behind them. As they descended, there was a growing sound of distant music booming distantly behind the door. The door was heavier at the bottom of the stairs, but as it was heaved open, a flurry of sound and light hit them both all at once.

Tracy cooed in delight as the lights flashed brightly, the underground club coming to life before their eyes. It had a slightly mysterious energy to it all, such an odd location for a party deep underground, and yet the partygoers looked fabulous and glamorous in their assortment of bright fluttering dresses, well-fitting suits. Aziraphale felt a little underdressed suddenly, even though he knew he looked fine, but his eyes wandered to pearls that glittered in the lights, the fur coats that were ushered off by quick ushers that ran to and fro. The elegance of the air was unmistakable, and Aziraphale and Tracy couldn’t help but stop and ogle at the views before them.

Aziraphale felt the slight jump of Tracy still linked in his arms as a young man touched her elbow gently, an usher, and Tracy slipped off her bright woolen coat and the tight black belt cinched at her waist to reveal a swooping, silky looking thing that fell far past her ankles. If anything, Tracy was maybe a tad _overdressed_ , but then, she always was.

“Oh, dearie!” Tracy shouted across the room, waving a black gloved hand towards another woman across the way, who cooed in the same high-pitched tone that made Aziraphale’s ears ring a bit.

“Aziraphale, look,” Tracy cried as the woman approached them, the little click-clack of heels on wooden floors adding to the cacophony already in the room. “This is my book club gal, Carmine!”

“Ah, hello ma’am,” Aziraphale tried to chime in over the excited squealing. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Oh, you must be Tracy’s young man!” The woman shrieked, and stepped back to give him a once over, taking in Aziraphale’s look. His cheeks burned red again. He knew that styles were changing quickly, it _was_ the ‘50’s after all, but he just couldn’t be bothered to keep up anymore and had long since settled for his own sort of look, reminiscent of an Oxford professor who’s always just got back from a very important meeting of some sort. He’d always dreamt of it; being a studied man, being an academic of some kind. _The clothes maketh the man_ , he had thought. Maybe looking the part was the first step. Better than the diner apron, anyway. In any case, it always got him some looks, and far too many questions about his livelihood.

“I’m not all that young anymore, ma’am,” Aziraphale responded softly, still recovering from his depressing train of thought. “Although, I could hardly say the same about you. You look just marvelous.”

The woman turned to Tracy with a pink flush high atop her cheeks, and she swept a lock of perfectly coiffed and rolled hair behind her ear. “Oh, and such a gentleman as well, Tracy, look at him. What a catch. Too young for us, though, eh, dear?”

“Oh, remember when we were that young, Carmine?” Tracy turned to admire a rapidly shying Aziraphale, smiling awkwardly under the attention of both older ladies.

“Please, I’m 27 already, Tracy, you know this. Not that young anymore.” Aziraphale could see the beginnings of age on the two ladies before him, but they could only be in their early 40s, if that. He always hated when people drew attention to the age difference between Tracy and Aziraphale; not that he minded dancing with someone who was a bit older, but rather that he was considered very young for the dances he liked to compete for. Most of the younger folks were leaning towards the newer music, the bouncing, energetic tones of rock and roll. Elvis Presley, Chuck Berry. Not that he knew much about all that anyway. He stopped trying to change with the times a long time ago. He liked his music, and he liked to dance to that most, and blast anyone who would judge him for it.

“Oh,” the other woman chided, “Bless him. So Tracy, no Shadwell tonight?”

“No, not tonight, dear. His back is really giving him some trouble lately. That’s why I’ve brought my dance partner tonight, he’s never been to a nice big party like this, and you know I’d never miss Frances’ 50th, of course---”

Aziraphale found himself losing the thread of the conversation very quickly and glanced around as the ladies chatted idly, taking in the rest of the party in its entirety. The women were dressed in a variety of bouncing cocktail dresses, some quite young and beautiful. Usually they were accompanied by a group of dashing young men, some wearing suit jackets over their dress shirts, some going slightly more casual if they were daring, and Aziraphale gulped as he caught sight of one man whose jacket had been removed, and the brown pressed shirt pulled taut against his shoulders. He swallowed thickly and turned his head back towards the women.

“---you should go see!”

“Oh, yes, that’s wonderful. Thank you, Carmine, do have fun, now.” Before Aziraphale could blink away the confusion at the abrupt end of conversation, he was being dragged along the floor to a separate area, where the crowd had seemed to gather excitedly.

“Tracy, what’s all this about?” He questioned, tagging just behind Tracy.

“Oh, it’s young lads doing some dancing, thought you’d love to see!”

By the time he was being yanked forward in the crowd, another couple had joined the already large crowd of jumping dancers, and Aziraphale was struck by the sheer energy of the moving masses. There were 8 couples, maybe 9, maybe a hundred, jumping and swinging wildly to something he recognized from the radio.

“Tutti Frutti,” Aziraphale whispered to himself as he placed the tune in his memory, and watched the way the dancers sported wide smiles and bright eyes. He scanned the movement absently, and from one second to the next nearly had the breath knocked out of his lungs as he spotted a flash of bright red hair sailing across the floor, flickering like a wild flame. It belonged to a young man, just about his own age maybe, who had probably stripped his overcoat a long time ago. He wore a tight white dress shirt, tucked tighter against his body by a charcoal gray waistcoat and a pair of striking black suspenders that clung to his sweaty torso, holding up a pair of sinful dark trousers. Aziraphale let his eyes travel all the way down his lithe body, and found himself fighting a smile at the completely out-of-place snakeskin shoes that glimmered underneath the wide-legged bottoms.

The man was thin and angled, and he moved with a smoothness that was incomparable to anyone else on the dance floor; Aziraphale could almost imagine him gliding on ice skates with the way he moved swiftly across the room. He was dancing with an equally elegant and quirky young woman, who was sporting a forest green tartan dress that had a build clearly made for swings and leaps; clearly made for dancing. It swirled around her long body like a dream, and Aziraphale found himself hyperfocused on the way the man’s fingers tightened around her waist to pull her close, and then skated along her body to twist her away, to pull her body over and under and around him in increasingly dangerous turns and twists. The man would swing her hips down to the floor so she could slide between his legs, and then would yank her up over his shoulders in acrobatic leaps that made Aziraphale’s heart race.

Above everything, the swinging beat of the drums, the teeming masses, the leaps and jumps, the bright clothing, one thing stood out above all; the man’s smile. Aziraphale thought it was glorious. It was a wide, sparkling thing, genuine and shameless. The man beamed as he moved his partner around, and caught her eyes as they moved in tandem, a gorgeous display of trust and also of a recklessness they seemed to share knowingly with every glance. Aziraphale couldn’t stop staring and wondering what that sunbeam smile might look like directed at him.

“They’re quite good, aren’t they, dear?” Aziraphale looked down at Tracy, for a moment forgetting there were other people in the room with them, forgetting where he was, and who he was. He was surprised to find that a wide smile had found its way to his own face, and only became aware of it as he glanced back up at the lovely dancing couple. Just then, the beat stopped abruptly, and Aziraphale noticed for the first time there was a band playing past the crowds. He wondered when the last time was that he’d really lost himself like that, had let himself enjoy a moment so thoroughly that he’d been happy, giddy, even, just for a bit.

He let his smile slip a bit at the thought, and belatedly joined in the raptured applause echoing across the room. He was just starting to clap his hands together, arm still awkwardly linked with Tracy’s when he caught the man, the flame-haired man, looking right at him from across the room, a wide smile on his face, panting like he’d just run a marathon. They watched each other intensely, just for a moment, and it felt like lightning striking right under Aziraphale’s feet. He could see flecks of an amber yellow in the other man’s eyes, even from so far away, and for a moment it was just the two of them, and noise.

And then, he realized. It struck him like a slap in the face. He knew him. Aziraphale had met this man once before, in a dingy diner, and he’d seen the smile up close, those eyes. He had dimples. He’d almost forgotten.

The moment ended abruptly as Aziraphale watched the young woman he danced with slip a hand into his, and the red-haired man’s eyes wrenched away from Aziraphale, and he seemed to jolt back into the moment, lifting the woman’s hand delicately and bowing for her, kissing the top of her hand in a friendly gesture. Aziraphale slowly watched him turn into a completely different person; where he had been open and vulnerable and shameless just moments ago, he slowly turned into a crowd-pleaser, a smirk growing on his face to replace the beaming thing that had lived there, and he winked into the crowd as the applause ebbed and slowly died off. He turned around to swiftly pick the young woman up, bridal style, and swing her around in a circle only to cause a delighted shriek from the woman who clung to him momentarily before smacking him hard on the arm playfully.

Aziraphale found himself a bit sad, suddenly, watching them. He didn’t have anyone like that, and he’d never had. And he likely never would. Not anything like that. He could feel it like a little sinking feeling beneath his ribs, the same as he always felt when he thought about his future, likely curled up on a sofa, reading one of his books, and alone; same as it had always been.

He stood there watching the couple walk off the dancefloor for entirely too long before extracting his arm from within Tracy’s grip.

“I’m going to get us a drink, Tracy, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, lovely idea, my dear,” Tracy started excitedly, before taking stock of Aziraphale’s dejected expression and continuing in confusion, “You know my favorite, don’t you?”

“Yes, I do.” Aziraphale smiled sadly, and wondered why he felt so suddenly the desperate need to get away. “Be right back,” he muttered quietly.

He felt a little guilty leaving Tracy alone, but she had never had trouble blending into crowds and making friends, and at this moment he found himself finding the party a little too crowded, a little too warm. He wedged his way through the happy throngs of people to make his way to a small bar that was tucked away towards an edge of the club, and the people sat around it were chattering quietly. He stood at the edge of the bar and waved a hand at the bartender, ordering both for him and for Tracy, then turned around to lean on the edge and watch the crowd gather for another dance across the room. His eyes glazed over as he watched them move and twist, and his thoughts wandered once again to that flashing smile, that flame-red hair.

“So what do you teach?” A loud voice startled Aziraphale out of his daydreams.

“I’m sorry?” Aziraphale said out of instinct and turned to his side to find a face entirely too close to his, and the heat in his face deepened impossibly upon realizing who he was speaking to.

“Oh, I forgive you.”

“F-for what?” Aziraphale stuttered. The man’s smirk grew dangerously.

“Dunno. But whatever you’re apologizing for, it’s forgiven.”

Aziraphale stared in stunned silence, until the man laughed and stepped back, giving Aziraphale a bit of much needed space to recover, the interaction already very quickly spiralling out of his control.

“I said,” the man started again, and, good Lord, the amber honey color of his eyes looked even brighter and more stunning from up close. “What do you teach? You must be a professor or something. Though I must say, you’re pretty young for that sort of thing.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath to steady his stuttering heart, and he tugged on the edges of his woolen coat, still a bit scratchy against his skin. “Oh, I. I don’t teach.”

“Really? Student, then.”

“Ah, not...not exactly, I---”

“Sir?” Aziraphale was startled by a third voice behind him, and turned around to find his drinks ready. He reached inside his pocket and set a few small coins on the counter, before gathering them up in his hands gingerly, ready to head reluctantly back into the crowds.

The red-haired man cleared his throat loudly beside him, and Aziraphale stopped his movements upon noticing something like nervousness in his expression. He furrowed his brows watching him, and waited.

“Crowley,” he’d said.

“Sorry?”

“So apologetic, you are.” The man smiled awkwardly, and cleared his throat again, doing something complicated with his arms, some sort of movement that Aziraphale assumed must have been explanatory in nature, but which meant absolutely nothing to him. “My name. Crowley. It’s, uh...nice to meet you.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale breathed. “Yes, it’s nice to meet you, too.” The man, _Crowley_ , smiled patiently, and waited for Aziraphale to keep going. Aziraphale found himself realizing slowly, this man had no memory of Aziraphale, further proving his point from that night. The man had only been messing with him, and Aziraphale himself had never meant anything to the man, hadn’t even made enough of a lasting impression to be remembered. He felt a snare of anger clutch at his throat, angry again at the entire interaction and angry that Crowley didn’t remember it at all, _angry_ for how he’d left Aziraphale that day. And yet, all he felt was a sinking desire to want to do it all over again, to meet him again but under different circumstances, as different people. It was nice to imagine, to fantasize it, even if just for a moment.

Crowley kept waiting, and upon not receiving an answer, elaborated. “So what about you? What’s your name?”

Aziraphale felt his mind stutter to a stop, and scrambled for an answer that would make sense. Should he lie? Should he say the truth? His name was rare enough that Crowley might remember him at once, although if he hadn’t _already_ remembered him, then maybe---

“Oh, shit,” Crowley said quietly, eyes widening as he took a step back, the smile creeping off his face. “You’re that diner kid.”

Aziraphale could feel the fury light up in his chest again, and he stepped forward dangerously, anger screwing up his features and casting a spark to appear in his eyes. Crowley took another step back, memories seeming to reel back to him all at once.

“Screw you,” Aziraphale said simply, clutching his drinks in hand, storming off into the crowd. He could feel careful eyes following his retreating back, but he never looked back. Not once.

He left the party soon after.

\-----------------------


	2. confusion, disillusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys meet again, drawn to each other in the strings of fate like moths to an eternal flame. 
> 
> kidding, that's really very dramatic but slowly their lives start to tangle and they're both quite unexpectedly happy for it happen!! mm, wonder why

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey y'all!! the response to ch1 was so very sweet, thank you all for being here!! i hope you like this one as well, and i look forward to hearing your thoughts about it. also there's just something so soft and romantic and melancholic about this style of music, everything written is written while i'm listening to the playlist so hopefully that mood is captured in the words. anyway, enjoy!!

CHAPTER 2

Aziraphale was lucky, in that sense. 

Normally, he was a nervous wreck. Always feeling out of place, always feeling like he had to prove something to someone, like everybody had to _like_ him all the time, and with an equal intense desire for people to leave him alone so he could just exist peacefully in the shadows. He was always on edge, always worried he’d be caught for something, that he’d be looked at, he’d be judged.

But here, in the middle of a dance contest where most people were jittery messes of anxious energy, Aziraphale felt most at peace. He knew he was good at this, and he knew he would do well. He’s practiced this enough with Tracy, a crowd doesn’t change anything. 

Plus, when he’s dancing it all turns off, suddenly. It’s just music, and moving. It’s the most freedom Aziraphale ever gets in this life, except maybe when he’s sucked into a book. Maybe then, too. 

Aziraphale walked forward into the empty space on the floor, reserved for dancers, and the crowd hushed abruptly. He could feel all the eyes on him, on Tracy, and he didn’t feel scared. He felt grateful, proud, to know all these people were watching him, that this was his space and they were giving it to him. That he could bring them joy with this, if even for a moment.

He slid a hand into Tracy’s once they reached the middle of the floor, and straightened up facing Tracy, and she did the same, sliding a gentle hand around his waist. They waited patiently as the music started up, and Aziraphale threw a reassuring smile down at Tracy, much shorter than he is, and when the music swelled, he grabbed her tight and began to lead her around the room.

_Volare, oh, oh._

_Cantare, oh, oh…_

The voice crooned softly, and the melody took over, just as the thoughts in Aziraphale’s head switched off and his muscle memory took over. 

Aziraphale danced like he was captive in a music box, and it was this quality that made him unforgettable to the crowds. He was a classical dancer, of which there were many, of course. It was just simple turns, soft dips with the swell of music, easy footwork and sways. At first glance, it looks quite easy. But Aziraphale and Tracy were very well-known in these circles despite the apparent simplicity of the dances because of their practiced ease, and because of the absolutely precise symmetry of their bodies and the astonishing synchrony in their movements. 

_Let’s fly away up to the clouds,_

_Away from the maddening crowds…_

Tracy was a gem, always done up with jewels in her hair and a smile that could light up a room. But Aziraphale, oh, he always looked like he’d just jumped out of a gentlemen’s catalog, his suit framing his broad shoulders, the lapels cradling his gentle face. His curls were a sweet adornment on his head, always fluffy and angelic in their pale hues, light bouncing through to cause something of a halo. He danced like he was made for it, his elbow perfectly rigid, his legs bending with ease, his stature perfect for gently twirling Tracy around and showing her off with a sort of pride, of the craft, of her skill, and of her.

_We can sing in the glow of a star that I know of,_

_Where lovers enjoy peace of mind…_

_Let us leave the confusion and all disillusion behind…_

He danced like he was in love with everything, life, all of it, and those who watched couldn’t help but love it as well. 

That’s what Aziraphale loved. For a minute or two, he could feel the reverence, the love for the craft and the love for the music, just swell and ebb in the air, and nothing else mattered.

The music drifted out into silence, and for just a moment he could feel the world stand still, and then a roar of applause rang out among the crowd. 

“You did wonderfully, Tracy,” Aziraphale shouted over the applause, and he delighted at the smile that Tracy beamed back at him.

“Oh, you flatterer. You know very well you steal the show every time.” Aziraphale chuckled, familiar with the easy banter. They did a little bow for the crowd, and then walked back off the floor to allow other contestants to perform. 

“I’m going to go get a drink, Tracy, want anything?” Aziraphale whispered into her ear as the announcers began introducing some other pair, fan favorites going by the excited claps as their names were announced. 

“Oh, but you’re going to miss the rest of the dancers! You don’t want to see the competition?”

“I do, but I’m also very thirsty. I’ll be quick, granted the line’s not too long.”

“But what if they’re the ones we’re up against, later?”

“Later?”

“You know, when we win this one---”

“ _If_ , Tracy, we’re hoping---”

“Yes, yes, but you know, if we get top three in this contest we can finally compete in the big leagues, Aziraphale! Maybe get you that reward money to take some classes, own a bookshop, the whole shebang!” 

Tracy started talking excitedly, and someone next to them shushed the two before they got too loud, the dancers finally taking their place on the dance floor.

“Tracy…” Aziraphale sighed, and drew closer to avoid making too much noise. “That’s if we make top three. And _then_ we’d still have to win the one after that. It’s a long ways off, who knows. Best not...and even then---”

“Aziraphale, dear.” Tracy chided quietly. “You’ll get there someday. I promise. You will, dear.” She placed a gentle hand on his cheek, and then pulled him into a motherly hug. “You’re wonderful at this, and even if we don’t win, we’ll keep trying. You’ll keep working at the diner, and one day you’ll make it there, alright? Chin up.”

Aziraphale pulled back gently. He had never really known what it was like to have a mother, his own had passed away very young, and he’d never known a father. But he thought back to all the times he’d had with Tracy, how she’d taken him under her wing, how she’d found him the job at the diner, how they met up for lunch every once in a while, how he’s always had a place to stay with her and Shadwell the few times he’d been unable to pay a rent. He thought of how she’s comforted him when he’d cried of a broken heart, how she’d encouraged him to keep working and studying to follow his dreams, and how she’d introduced him to dancing, something that had awoken something in him that brought him some modicum of joy.

He thought maybe technically he was an orphan, but still he’d had a mother all this time.

“Thank you, Tracy. What would I do without you?” He squeezed her elbow as he pulled away, and the music started back up raucously to something quite modern and upbeat. “Keep an eye on our competition, will ya?” He joked, and wandered through the tight crowds to the bar, far from the dance floor, where Aziraphale could only just hear the beat of heavy drums, the twang of guitar ringing out.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but think, completely unbidden.

_Crowley would’ve liked that song._

Years had passed since that first meeting, and he still could never forget that name. That face. And then to have faced him again, a haunting ghost from his past, just days ago at that party...well, he could only wonder why the name had taken up a residence in his mind.

When he came back, drinks in hand, it was much later than he had intended.

“Where did you go?” Tracy asked as he finally joined her side.

“Long line, sorry. Mint julep.”

“Ah, my favorite,” Tracy muttered, and lifted the glass to her nose, taking a big whiff of the crisp minty air. “Oh, they’re about to announce the winners! Hurry, dear!” She took the drink and downed the entire thing in one gulp, drawing an astounded look from those around her, including Aziraphale, whose eyebrows raised comically. He looked down at his own sidecar, and only had a moment to shove it into a stranger’s hand as he was yanked forward by Tracy to the front of the crowd.

Shame. He didn’t even get to try it.

“Today,” the announcer boomed out onto his microphone, the perfect radio voice sounding through, “---is a very special contest, folks. Today’s competition will produce three winners, those three of which will be invited to compete in the regional dancing contest. This is the final tier of competition, everyone. Not only do winners of the regionals get the title of honor, the ability to _gloat_ to all their friends,” he laughed, “--- _but…._ they will also be the grand prize winners of 10,000 pounds.” 

The crowd gasped excitedly, and the announcer smiled at the awaited response. 

“However, only those who make top three tonight will be able to move on and have the chance at that lump sum. So...big evening, isn’t it, folks?”

The crowd applauded loudly, and someone in the audience whooped. 

“So without further ado...here are the winners of tonight’s event.” He paused for dramatic effect. “There is one further announcement, however. The judges have come to an unusual decision tonight. It seems that _two_ of the pairs are tied for second place tonight, meaning there will be no third place winners.” Aziraphale’s stomach started to twist uncomfortably. As much as he pretended not to care about the end result, as much as he genuinely enjoyed the mere act of dancing, uncaring of what people thought of him, he could really, really, _really_ use the chance at that money. 

“Our first second-place winner is…..Mr. Fell and the gorgeous Madame Tracy!” Aziraphale choked on his own spit, glancing down at Tracy who looked equally as shocked as he was. The crowd was clapping all around them, watching them, while they searched each other’s faces, confirming that what they had heard was the truth. It took a long moment for the information to process in both their minds, maybe because Aziraphale was still reeling, or maybe because Tracy had just chugged an entire glass of mint julep on an empty stomach, but they both burst out into smiles that hurt their cheeks they were so bright, and Aziraphale hugged her tightly before pulling her through the crowds and into the middle of the dance floor, joining the announcer there. They bowed deeply, and Aziraphale caught himself, for the first time in a long time, dreaming about the future. Feeling almost hopeful.

Almost.

The applause hushed as the announcer continued, and it took Aziraphale a moment to come back to the present moment, mind still rushing, giddy and elated.

“...Mr. Crowley and the ever wonderful, Miss Device!”

Aziraphale’s smile faltered just a touch at the edges upon hearing the name, the word ‘ _Crowley_ ’ uselessly bouncing around in his scrambled head.

And then, they emerged from the crowd. Aziraphale locked eyes with him immediately, and Crowley seemed to have had the benefit of knowing about Aziraphale’s presence for longer than Aziraphale had by the way he sauntered out, no surprise registering on his face. Crowley moved forward and seemed to have a practiced air of confidence about him, of cockiness. Arrogance. 

And Aziraphale could see, somehow, that it was all an act. He didn’t know the man, of course he didn’t, but somehow he knew. That wasn’t the real Crowley. He was softer, underneath.

He’d seen it.

He watched as Crowley made his way next to him on the dance floor, and Aziraphale watched stupidly as he approached and settled beside him, the heat of his presence so close it was almost tangible. The smile was completely gone from Aziraphale’s face, and his brows furrowed in confusion as he watched the man’s side profile, so elegant, so familiar now.

Crowley turned, feeling the gaze on his face, and winked obnoxiously, right at Aziraphale, in front of everyone.

Aziraphale blinked.

“And in first place, we have the graceful Youngs, congratulations!” The voice of the announcer boomed through the hall, and a happy couple emerged from the crowd, smiling and laughing.

And Aziraphale saw none of it. He couldn't hear the applause, and he couldn’t even feel the way Tracy tugged on his elbow to get his attention. All he could do was stare at the sharp cheekbones, the locks of red hair that looked softer this close up. The new tattoo staring back at him, bright black against the man’s light skin, just on his temple. He had the itching urge to reach out and run a gentle thumb over it. 

He looked so human from here, unlike all the times Aziraphale had thought of him and imagined him over the years, how he’d turned into this demonic being of a person, cruel and teasing and _awful_ in his mind. They’d only spoken for maybe ten minutes that night years ago, and yet it had stuck with Aziraphale for so long, although he could never _really_ place why. And then to have run into him just days ago, only to be faced with him again at such an important event in his life. It seemed fateful, somehow. And also like a bad omen. 

A really, very bad one.

He felt a nasty curl in his stomach at the way Crowley had sneered at him that night at the diner, the way his brows had furrowed and twisted in rage as he threw the money on the counter, the way he’d pretended to be nice, to be _interested_ , in such a believing way. Aziraphale had fallen for it, if only for a second, and he’d never forget it.

He never forgot that lesson.

His heart lurched at the thought of that night, again, and he steeled himself to put it away for now. This wasn’t the time to be reminded of how worthless he felt, of how little Crowley had made him feel that night. He reassured himself internally and faced the crowd once again. Upon feeling a little tug from Tracy, he looked down at his side.

“Alright, dearie?” Tracy asked.

Aziraphale just smiled, knowing that it didn’t look very convincing, and tried his best to keep the sad echo from making its way to the corners of his mouth. “Yes. Tickety-boo.”

He turned back to the crowd and forced himself to focus on the smiling, clapping faces in front of him, letting the gratitude flood him again. But he couldn’t get rid of the presence of Crowley at his side, in his mind, in the aching of his chest.

Aziraphale was startled out of self-pitying thoughts at the boom of the announcer’s microphone once again. “Thank you once again, dancers! Congratulations again to all of tonight’s winners, and I do expect to see you all in one month at the regionals. Good luck, lads.”

“So,” Tracy dragged out in a sing-song manner. “Are we celebrating tonight? Some drinks?”

Aziraphale opened his mouth to reply, but found that no matter how much he wanted to say yes, he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“Aziraphale?” She prompted, after a moment of silence.

“Yes,” he blurted out. “Yes, of course. You did amazing, Tracy, you deserve a few drinks.”

She stayed quiet for entirely too long, and it made Aziraphale’s skin prickle.

“Dearie, I’ve known you for years. I know you’re upset about something. But I thought you’d be happy for winning. It’s a good thing, right? We can drop out if you like, I’m sure there would be other dancers who would be happy to---”

“No, no, of course not.” Aziraphale interrupted. “It’s not that. I’m happy, I really, really am. This is amazing.”

“...But?”

Aziraphale glanced at his shoes, suddenly finding them very interesting. “I just…maybe...we should get a drink.”

Tracy’s face transformed into something soft and comforting, a little smile creeping onto her face. “Of course. Sidecar for you?”

“Yes, perfect.” Aziraphale smiled. “Especially since I never got to drink mine earlier.”

“Oh, shush.”

\----

“I never told you what happened that night, it was so long ago.” Aziraphale mumbled, already on his third sidecar and feeling a little lighter, and at the same time like the pain in his chest was more raw, less able to put it away under lock and key in his memories.

“No, you didn’t,” Tracy agreed, on her fourth mint julep now but, hey, no one was counting. “I don’t remember when exactly it happened. But...I remember you were different for a while there. You were sadder. Not sure.”

Aziraphale swirled the drink around in his hand, remembering the fresh pain of that night once again. “It...it was about...someone. Someone came into the diner and they...well, they…” Aziraphale looked up, and hated the pitying expression on Tracy’s face, a bit slack from the drinks. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, he was not kind. And then he shows up again, at that party. Frances’---”

“Ah, Frances, yes! He was there?”

“Yes, and he’s here now.”

“He is?” Tracy whipped around in her seat dangerously, and almost toppled over, causing many nearby people to turn to her in alarm. Aziraphale reached out to keep her from falling over, and quickly wrenched her body away from where it was about to face Crowley’s general direction. He sent an apologetic smile at everyone around them before muttering to Tracy. “No, Tracy, he’s, uh…” His eyes locked onto red hair far away across the room. “You wouldn’t know him. Point is, I just...I just feel like he’s just this _constant_ reminder of...what I could never---” Aziraphale blinked away a stinging wetness in his eye and inspected Tracy’s eyes. They seemed kind, but also a bit glazed over. “Tracy?”

“Mm, yes, of course,” She hiccuped.

“You feeling tired, Tracy?” Aziraphale said softly, heart warming at her obvious attempt to listen carefully, and also the way her eyelids slowly drooped, her posture bent over and weary.

“Oh, dear, I’m so sorry, Aziraphale. Yes, just, the dancing and the---”

“Tracy, it’s fine. I’ll get you a cab.”

“But---”

“No, no buts.”

“No, Mr. Shadwell is meant to pick me up tonight, he promised. I told him nine o’clock.”

Aziraphale stretched his arm to expose his watch. “It’s only eight fifteen, but I’ll give him a ring. Come on.”

Aziraphale moved out of the tall bar seat, putting an arm out to steady Tracy as she stepped off of hers, and she laughed a bit as she did, finding her footing only after Aziraphale helped right her. 

“Come on. We’ll find a payphone.” Aziraphale guided Tracy through the people standing around the floor, still chatting and some dancing, and they moved to the door slowly. When they finally reached the exit, he braced himself for the cold burst of air and swung the door open for Tracy, who stepped out the door as he held it. He smiled after her, murmuring a quiet, “Careful,” and chanced one last look up at the party, before catching someone’s amber yellow eyes.

He felt it like a stab through his body, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but feel rooted to the spot suddenly, heart in his chest as the beautiful man watched him go. Crowley’s shoulders looked slumped, for some reason, watching him, and his expression was a sad one. Aziraphale couldn’t figure out the reason, and wondered if someone had upset him. He had the strangest urge to go ask, to brush his hand against Crowley’s like he’d done so long ago, the thought shocking him enough to realize how ridiculous that was. Whoever had made Crowley sad, then that wasn’t his business. And Crowley was not someone he _comforted_ , he barely knew the man. 

He broke the eye contact from across the room and followed Tracy out, letting the door slam shut behind him. 

Luckily for Aziraphale, there was a payphone just outside the building, and he knew Tracy’s home number well enough to reach Shadwell. Tracy had insisted on squeezing in the payphone with him, and as he pushed her out at the end of the phone call, she broke into a fit of laughter. 

“What?” Aziraphale laughed with her, watching the way her near-orange curls bounced over her head.

“Nothing, nothing.” She laughed. “Ah, I’m so glad I got you into dancing, dearie. We have a lot of fun, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do.” Aziraphale smiled.

“Ah, but it’s a young person’s sport these days, isn’t it?”

“You _are_ young, Tracy, I don’t know what you could possibly mean.” Aziraphale teased. 

“No, dearie, it is a young person’s sport, with all these competitions and such. My knees aren’t what they used to be. But maybe you’ll find yourself a new dance partner someday, who knows?” She chuckled easily, but Aziraphale secretly thought that maybe soon she’d be right about her imminent retirement from dance. She had been talking about easing up on the competitions for a long time now, and Aziraphale had the growing notion that maybe she only continued competing because she knew Aziraphale liked it, and for the chance at funding his future. The guilt made his smile falter.

A loud honk startled him out of his thoughts, and he whipped his head around to see a small round car idle on the side of the road, pulled up just in front of the building.

“Oh, coo-ee, Mr. Shadwell!” Tracy hollered, raising an arm to wave frantically at the car, waving it down even though it had already stopped to wait for her. 

“Go on, Tracy.” Aziraphale walked her to the car, opening the door for her and ushering her in. He peeked in to wave at Shadwell, whom he’d known for more than a decade but who still regarded him suspiciously every time they saw each other. He learned quickly not to take it personally. 

“Good night, Mr. Shadwell. Good night, Tracy. I’ll see you all next week, alright?”

That earned a grunt from Mr. Shadwell and a tipsy giggle from Tracy before he sped off into the night, and Aziraphale stood there watching until the back lights blinked off in the distance. He glanced at the doors of the establishment, debating whether he should go back in, before deciding against it. He pulled a cigarette out of his breast pocket, grateful for the tweed material of his jacket protecting him from the cold. 

He found a match at the bottom of one of his pockets, and watched the fire spark and roar before slowly beginning to consume the wooden match, closer and closer to his fingers.

“ _Shit_ ,” he heard a woman shout right as the door opened with a bustle, and he turned quickly to see what the commotion was, only just remembering to shake the match out before it burnt his fingers. The cigarette he was about to light hung limply from his lips, and Aziraphale watched as a woman stumbled forward, leaning heavily on the wall just outside the building, hopping strangely on one foot, and cradling the other one awkwardly in one of her hands. Aziraphale noted her face contorted in pain, and immediately rushed over to help, cigarette slipping and landing forgotten on the ground.

“Ma’am? Are you alright?” He said, suddenly at her side, hands hovering over her body, unsure of how to help.

“My ankle, I’m not sure. I think,” the woman said with a sharp gasp, “I think I may have twisted or, I don’t know.”

“Here, may I?” Aziraphale said in a rush, and when she nodded, he wrapped a hand around her back and under her arm, holding her upright while she steadied herself onto one leg. He opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped when he looked up at her face just beside his.

“You’re that dancer, aren’t you? Miss Device?” Aziraphale asked curiously, and the woman looked up at him and laughed. 

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Oh, shall I get your boyfriend, then?” Her brows furrowed as he spoke. “The one with the...red hair?”

“Oh, that’s not my boyfriend...he’s my dance partner,” she said suspiciously for a reason Aziraphale couldn’t parse out at the moment. “But yes, do you mind fetching him please? He’s inside.” She eased herself off of Aziraphale’s grip to lean against the wall once again, and went back to tending to her limp ankle, pressing gently at the skin that had begun to swell a bit.

Aziraphale stood there dumbly for a half second, feeling his cheeks go a bit warm at the thought of actually _speaking_ to the man, before he remembered that this poor woman was in pain, and needed help right away. He made sure she was steady before rushing back into the building, eyes immediately parsing through the crowds in search of that distinctive hair. 

He spotted it a ways away in the distance, bouncing gently along to the rhythm of the music, and before he could think twice about it, rushed to him, weaving his way around the crowds.

As Aziraphale drew closer, he could see that Crowley was talking to some friends maybe, but he looked a bit bored, tuned out and bopping his head instead to the distant sounds of the band playing across the way. He looked nice that way, face relaxed, eyes glazed over a bit. His lips looked soft, almost sweet. Aziraphale remembered how those lips had looked at the diner, pulled into a smile that was directed at him like a ray of sunshine, burning through all of Aziraphale’s careful defenses, if only for a moment.

And then, the moment was gone. Aziraphale watched as Crowley’s eyes suddenly focused on Aziraphale as he approached, at first widening, and then narrowing in suspicion as Aziraphale grew steadily closer. Aziraphale could see the way his brows furrowed, the way his body tensed and straightened in the moments just before he reached his side. Unfortunately, Aziraphale thought, he had this talent of always looking quite beautiful, even when he was angry. Of course he did.

“Excuse me,” Aziraphale said as he approached, and found that all the men Crowley had been talking to had fallen silent as well, watching him with scrutiny. “I need you.” Aziraphale said, eyes locking with Crowley’s. 

“I’m sure you do,” one of the men said with a laugh, and the others joined in the teasing laughter. Aziraphale wasn’t sure he understood, but he knew he was being made fun of somehow. 

“Please, it’s quite important.” He continued quietly, feeling the judging, watchful eyes on him as he spoke like beetles crawling over his skin.

“What, come to parse out the competition?” Crowley asked with a tentative smirk, eyes trailing up and down his face. “What is it?”

“I...I need your help. Just...please.” Aziraphale glanced to the side, trying to ignore the other men there, all leering at him, trying to focus on Crowley and the half-hearted smile that was slowly slipping, replaced by genuine concern. 

Crowley opened his mouth to speak, but Aziraphale would never know what it was, because one of his friends beat him to the punch.

“Need some help grading papers, _Professor_?” one of them teased, and he heard another one whisper, “That coat, who does he think he is?”

Aziraphale knew it hadn’t been Crowley that said it, he watched the way his lips parted and opened to say something, and how a resounding silence came out of it instead. Aziraphale tightened his hands into fists by his side. “Fine. Forget it.”

Aziraphale walked off without bothering to look back, pushing through the crowds indelicately and rushing back out to the cold outdoors. And if he had to blink back a stinging feeling in his eyes, then no one else needed to know that. 

“Miss Device?” He approached her with careful strides. “Your partner is, uh, indisposed, but can I make a phone call for you? Or---”

“Anathema!” The door busted open and the sound of the party trickled out before the door could slam closed again, and a man scrambled forward, reaching for the woman with urgency. “What happened?”

“I don’t think I can walk, I must’ve stepped wrong or something.”

“It hurts?”

“ _Yes_ , it hurts, idiot,” Anathema said with no real spite in her voice. Aziraphale watched the exchange with a lurch in his chest and stepped back, resigned to leave them be. “He was helping me while you got here, where have you been?”

Crolwey looked up from where he was scrutinizing her foot to lock eyes with Aziraphale once again, his eyes looking panicked and guilty. Aziraphale didn’t like that on him, didn’t like that he was sad. 

“Look, I---” Crowley started.

“It’s nothing,” Aziraphale interrupted whatever half-baked apology the man would have produced. “Can I call a cab for you? Or phone someone?” He directed his attention to Anathema ignoring the hot burn of his face where Crowley wouldn’t stop staring.

“A cab. Crowley, will you come with me? I need help getting to my house, and then I’ll call Newt. See if he knows what to do.” She waited. “Crowley?”

“Erm, yes.” His face was flushed darkly, even Aziraphale could see from this far away in the dark. “Yeah, yup. I'll do that. Sure.”

“Of course, dear girl. I’ll find you a cab, one moment.” Aziraphale said, and walked off to flag down a cab, finding one just down the block. The car stopped too far down the street, and Aziraphale suddenly found he didn’t feel like explaining. He walked back to the couple, Crowley straining under the weight of balancing Anathema, and Aziraphale had a moment before blurting out. “This might be easier if I just...carry you, is that alright?”

Anathema blinked, as did Crowley. “Ah, yes. Sure. Are you sure you can---?”

“Yes, dear. It’ll just be a moment.” Aziraphale bent down to gently place an arm to the back of her knees, picking her up softly, bridal style. 

She laughed. “You’re quite strong.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” He secured her against his chest, and turned around to face Crowley. “Aren’t you coming?”

Crowley was frozen stock-still, hands still hovering where they had been supporting Anathema, eyes wide. “Jesus.” He cleared his throat. “Yes. Ngk. Yes, yep.” He scuttered forward inelegantly ahead of Aziraphale, rushing over to the cab to peel open the car door with an unsteady hand. 

Aziraphale walked over, and placed her slowly onto the car seat. “I do hope you get better soon, dear.”

“Oh, I’m sure you would love to get rid of the competition, wouldn’t you?” She joked. It was a slight echo of Crowley’s words earlier, but this time there was no bite to it at all. “Don’t think I don’t know who you are. You were wonderful.”

Aziraphale’s eyes softened, and he said sincerely. “As were you. It would be an honor to compete against you and I assure you, I really hope you’re alright to dance. I’d hate for you to think---”

“I don’t.” She said easily. “You’re not that type, are you?”

Aziraphale smiled a careful thing, and stepped back. “Well, I’ll..leave you with Mr….erm… Mr. Crowley, then.” He looked at the man holding the door open still, and this close couldn’t help but get lost in the flecks of gold that glimmered in the streetlight. “Take care of her, dear boy.” 

Aziraphale stepped away, walking to the driver’s side window, and fishing out the last of his money to hand to the cabbie. 

“That’s...I can---” Crowley began.

“Nonsense, it’s the least I can do.” He smiled sadly. “Besides, I still owe you. From…”

Crowley swallowed loudly. “But...how will you get home?” He sputtered. 

Aziraphale hadn’t considered that. “I’ll walk. It’s fine.”

The man stared at him, lips hanging open, and Aziraphale couldn’t help but watch them as he muttered, “Good night, Mr. Crowley.”

He turned around, and only after a long time, heard a car door close, and the engine of the cab strike up as they drove away.

And if he thought about Crowley’s face, his fluttering eyelashes, his sharp nose and slumped shoulders the entire walk home, well. That was that.

For several days, that face was all Aziraphale could think about. He felt haunted by a crimson ghost, thinking of him when someone played an upbeat song on the jukebox, when he turned to his books and imagined every romance lead as that familiar face, when he’d walk down the streets and think, hope, wish, that he’d bump into that man once again.

Which is why he was most surprised when he, in fact, did, just a few days soon after.

Aziraphale had been in the back of the diner, and he’d known for a fact it had been empty. He’d already wiped everything down twice in his boredom, but tonight seemed an extraordinarily slow night. He wrung out the dirty rag in his hands over the age-old sink, and mentally went over choreographies, testing out moves as he thought. He was surprised, then, to begin to register the sound of the jukebox crooning from the other side of the diner. He thought he had fixed any issues the last time he worked; he didn’t need his boss blaming the malfunctions on him, and taking out of his paycheck. He could barely afford rent as it is.

Aziraphale walked out quietly, drying his hands absently on his apron before taking a quick cursory glance around the building, before he had to do a double take looking at one of the booths. It took Aziraphale a moment to process that the man was really here, and not just another fantasy. He was seated exactly where he had been all those years ago, and he was dressed nearly the same. His hair was tousled, like he’d been running his fingers through it, and he looked tired, nervous, dejected.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley said, seeing as Aziraphale hadn’t said anything, hadn’t even moved from where he’d frozen in place. “We need to talk.”

\-------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see i told you they'd be drawn together! next chapter will be more of our boys, learning to dance (haha) around each other, physically, and emotionally. hope you enjoy :)  
> -oh and quick aside! fridays are really very busy for me so i've decided to shift my posting day by one, so next week and in the following weeks expect the update to arrive on a saturday instead of fridays! hope that's alright with y'all. thank you again for being here, for reading, for sharing with friends, for leaving kudos and comments alike, i love you all so very much. have a lovely weekend!!


	3. the very thought of you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An Arrangement begins to take form.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes this update comes a day early but i just felt like it :) i've gotten some really kind comments from y'all and they make me super happy and it motivates me for the story!! i hope y'all enjoy reading this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it, and since this is primarily a dancing au i do promise the dancing will start soon alright lol!! hang tight, we're gettin there. thanks for reading everyone!! hope you're doin alright!!

CHAPTER 3

“Look, I know we...we got off on the wrong foot.” Crowley started, and Aziraphale still hadn’t moved. “But I was just...can I buy you coffee?”

“What for?” Aziraphale finally spoke, and was surprised to find that his throat felt tight.

“I just...look, I’m sorry for...back then. Just. Please?”

Aziraphale took in the tired eyes, the disheveled appearance. He glanced around the diner one last time before approaching the booth with resignation, and sitting across from Crowley. He had a disorienting moment of deja vu, noting how just a few years had aged Crowley already, how he seemed even sharper now, having lost some of his softer more childish features with time. The eyes looked more piercing, and the lines around his eyes looked more defined. The jawline was further accentuated now by the barest hint of stubble.

Crowley stretched his fingers out and tightly back into a fist. “I’m sorry for whatever I did back then, for being too...forward.” Aziraphale furrowed his brows in confusion, and opened his mouth before being interrupted from his train of thought. “Look, I really am sorry, okay? And I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you needed my help. I’m sorry I keep...messing up with you. But I wish we could just start over.” Crowley looked up, and Aziraphale was surprised to find a very genuine expression there, a softness in his tone that he knew, instinctively, had always been there from the beginning.

“Well...apology accepted. Thank you,” he said carefully, and watched the way Crowley’s face lit up. “I..well, I apologize for being an ass, then. I’ve been told my temper can, uh, get away from me.”

Crowley laughed loudly. “Wow, well. Thanks. For saying that, I mean. I don’t mind it. The temper, I mean, it’s, it’s actually---” he cut himself off. “A-anyway, I’m not just here to apologize.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale began scooting out of the seat. “Did you really want coffee? Or something else, I’m sorry, I’ll---”

“No, no,” Crowley reached out a hand to stop him, a warm point of contact from which they both resisted from flinching away from. “I don’t. I...oh, Anathema’s alright by the way.”

Aziraphale racked his brain. “Anathema?”

“My dance partner. Miss Device, you probably know her as.”

“Oh, my dear, how rude of me! I didn’t even ask how she was doing, I was---” his eyes ran over the face in front of him. “---distracted. Her ankle…?”

“Is fucked. She’s fine, but she can’t walk. Much less dance. She’s...she’s out of the running.”

“Oh, dear.” Aziraphale paled. He thought about the way Crowley’s lips had twisted to say the obscenity, and his mind scattered into some rather unseemly places before he could reel it back, for the young lady’s sake. “That’s terrible. So you won’t be competing for the grand prize?”

Crowley shifted. “Well, I sure would like to.”

“But...with who?”

“Well, I do know this one dancer. He’s...really, really good. Different style, maybe, but wonderful. Properly good. And it’s not against the rules, I checked. Because he made it to the finals, too. So.”

Aziraphale blinked slowly, and felt his brain stutter to a stop. “...Mr. Young? But he---”

Crowley slammed his face into his palm, dragging his hand down to stretch the skin. “You, Aziraphale. I’m talking about you.”

Aziraphale could feel his face redden at the implication that Crowley thought he was... _good_. “Oh, but...oh, I couldn’t. I already have a partner. Tracy, she’s...I couldn’t.”

“Well, I know. And she’s really wonderful, too. But I was thinking, you and I, we could merge our styles, you know? I’ll teach you all the fancy flips, you can teach me the proper stuff, it’ll be great. We could win like that we could. A-and,” he continued, refusing to stop until he’d gotten his whole argument out, “I could give you some of my share of the money. If we win.”

“You’d just...give it to me? Just like that?” Aziraphale nearly choked.

“Well, I figure it’s fair. Sort of. If you let me steal you away from Tracy, I could...I don’t know. As much as you want. I just need some of it, but you know. Whatever you want. You could even split it with Tracy, I don’t care.”

“Don’t _you_ need the money?”

Crowley grimaced. “I do...but I’d be willing to part with some just for the chance. Any amount of that money would help an’...whatever I still need, I’ll just...keep working.”

Aziraphale softened at the way Crowley was talking, at the quiet reluctance. “What is the money for? If you won?”

“It...it doesn’t matter. I’m not even technically...in the running anymore, so.” Aziraphale waited patiently. “Ngk...I, uh. I’d like to go to school. Maybe.”

“For what?”

Crowley was steadily growing redder and redder, and he was becoming restless in his seat. “Erm...herpetology. Or something...something science-y. Maybe plants, or, I don’t know. Haven’t really decided. I like a lot of...stuff.”

Aziraphale smiled. “That’s brilliant.” Crowley looked up, and seemed to turn an impossibly deeper shade of red. 

“What would you do with the money?” Crowley said.

Aziraphale sighed. “I’d really like to be a professor. Literature. And then after that, I’d like to have a bookshop, you know the one on Soho? Bit hidden, you may not have…” Crowley regrettably shook his head and in that moment decided that he wanted to know about it, wanted to know everything about it immediately. “There’s this one bookshop in Soho, it’s huge, and they’ve got all these first editions, and rare antique ones, and academic texts, and...oh.” Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Ah, but apologies, I tend to get excited. Anyway, I’m going to own that place someday. You’ll see. _A.Z. Fell’s Bookshop_ , it’ll be marvelous.”

Crowley swallowed. “That sounds wonderful.” Aziraphale chuckled self-deprecatingly. “No, no, I mean it! And see, and you could have that. That amount of money, you could go to school, and get that shop, it could happen.”

“I couldn’t ever ask you to give up your share for me,” Aziraphale stated simply. “You deserve that, too.” There was a moment where they both looked at each other, and saw different people; Crowley saw a distinguished academic man in a bookshop, beautiful and happy, and Aziraphale looked and saw a clever scientist happily poking at snakes and snake plants alike, beautiful and happy. And maybe both of them with one more friend than they’d had before. 

It was a wonderful little moment, so, of course, Aziraphale had to break it before his heart could get carried away with it. “But I already have a dance partner.”

Crowley’s face fell, and then a forced smile made its way back onto his face. “Right. I know. Well. It was worth a try, I guess.” He smirked. “Do give Tracy my best, will you?”

Before he could make it to stand, Aziraphale shot a hand out. “Wait, well...I mean, you could stay, if you like, for a bit? I have to close soon, anyway, and then I have to toss out all the coffee and the scones, it’s such a shame, really. You could have them, on the house. And I do get awfully bored when the diner’s like this.”

Crowley smiled a wicked thing and said, “You tempting me to stay, angel?”

“It’s not _tempting_ , it’s just...asking nicely, there’s a difference.”

He took a deep breath. “Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Three hours later, and the diner had _definitely_ been closed for quite some time, but the lights remained on, the flickering buzz of pink neon lights glowing just as brightly as ever. Every other shop on the street had long since turned out its light.

“---And Ligur thought it was real funny, taking that plastic little lizard _everywhere_. And I got so tired of it, I put superglue on the little feet---”

“Oh no, you didn’t!”

“I did, just a little, I swear, and to my surprise instead of sticking it on the table or something, he decided to set the thing on his _head_.” Aziraphale was laughing wholeheartedly now, his stomach hurting from all the laughing. “And he thinks it’s so funny, balancing it there, and then he goes to take it off, and---” Crowley mimed the action, yanking his hair brutally, and then he couldn’t stop laughing and laughing. “I swear.”

“You’re a fiend, Crowley,” Aziraphale struggled for breath, and tried to remember the last time he’d laughed so hard. It had to have been years, at _least_. 

“I didn’t mean to get it on his head, that’s his own fault, alright? It was only stuck there about a day, he had to cut out bits of his hair but he was fiiiiine, swear it.”

Their laughs died down slowly, enough that they both picked at their scones on their plates with wide smiles on their face, falling into a companionable silence, before Aziraphale glanced at his wrist.

“Is that the time already?” He cried out, startling Crowley out of his thoughts. “I’m sorry but we really have to go.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I--”

“No, it’s alright, it’s my fault,” Azirpahale said. “It’s just. I hope Gabriel won’t notice that the light bill will have gone up, all these extra hours with the diner open. Or he’ll take it out of my paycheck and...and then I still have to walk home, and it’s quite dark, so---”

“Hey.” Crowley said softly. “I’ll drive you. No problem.”

“Oh, no, I couldn't possibly---”

“Angel.” Aziraphale held his breath. “I’ll drive you. Anywhere you wanna go.”

He hesitated, glancing at the pitch black windows that loomed just beyond the diner door. “Yes. Yeah, okay.”

Aziraphale washed up the remaining dishes with lightning speed and rushed out, turning off the lights hurriedly and making sure the door was locked before meeting Crowley outside. They climbed in the car quietly, and the drive was silent. Even the radio was off. The night was still, and the streets were nearly empty this late. 

“You usually walk this?” Crowley asked as Aziraphale muttered directions along the way. “It’s kind of...dangerous around here.” He looked around at the increasingly darker roads, the suspicious alleyways and lurking shadowy figures.

“Eh, it’s usually fine. Plus, a few muggings never hurt anyone,” he joked, and quickly amended at the way Crowley choked and snapped his eyes away from the road and onto Aziraphale’s face. “I’m joking, I apologize. That’s terrible. Bad joke. Nothing like that. N-not to me, anyway. So.” He trailed off. “It’s cheap living here.”

Aziraphale watched Crowley’s fingers tighten around the wheel. “You should get a car or something. Isn’t there anyone who could---”

“No. There isn’t.” Aziraphale faced the windshield and pointed at one last turn before carefully stepping out of the car as it came to a slow stop.

Crowley cleared his throat just as Aziraphale went to close the car door. “Well, you know, your house is on the way to my house from work. It would be easy for me to pick you up after work, bring you home. No trouble. In fact, probably good for me, because it’s a bit of a shortcut, saves me gas. You’d be helping me out, really.”

Aziraphale twitched an eyebrow, knowing full well that this route was not a shortcut to anything. “Is it, really?”

“Yeah, you’d be doing me a solid. If I picked you up after work. What time do you normally get out?”

“Erm, around eleven. Kind of late, dear.”

Crowley was very grateful for the darkness of the interior of the car, because it was going to really start ruining his reputation if he couldn’t stop blushing all the time when he was around Aziraphale. “Yeah, me too! Around eleven.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep,” he lied. He got out at six, but what Aziraphale didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt him. “Pick you up tomorrow?”

Aziraphale fidgeted slightly. “Sure. Tomorrow. If-if it’s not any---”

“It’s not,” Crowley said too quickly. “See you tomorrow.”

“Yes. See you tomorrow, Crowley. Thank you again.”

And long after the car door had clicked closed, after Crowley waited for Aziraphale’s front door to close safely, and after he could see a light turn on from a window inside, small and dim, only then did he finally reply, “Good night, angel.” 

\------- 

Aziraphale locked the door behind him as he crossed the threshold of his place, and placed his weight fully on the closed door. His hand hovered over the light switch, and decided against it. No use spending more money on raising the electric bill. He walked over to flick on a small lamp in the middle of the room, revealing a dark, cold, and nearly empty apartment. It was really just the one room, a bed shoved in the corner by the window, a fridge against the opposite wall, a tiny adjoining room with a bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was temporary. He didn’t mind. Someday he’d have a beautiful place, and it’d be covered floor to ceiling in books and cozy furniture and all the things Aziraphale could ever want. For now, he had a place to sleep, and most of his other few possessions lived at Tracy’s place. And that was fine.

He sat in a lone wooden chair that sat in his kitchen, or what could be called a kitchen, and contemplated for a long time. The man had shown up to the diner, he’d sat with him. Spoken to him like they weren’t nearly strangers, like they were...friends even. 

And Aziraphale should’ve been grateful for that alone, for the seeming friendship that was blossoming with Crowley. He was funny, really funny, and he was clever and mischievous, and he was talented and arrogant and stubborn and kind all at the same time. And Aziraphale should be grateful to know a man like that, much more grateful to be friends with him. 

But no. Aziraphale’s stomach just had to flutter every time Crowley’s neck was exposed as he laughed, and he had to fight the urge to cup that jaw in his hands every time Crowley leaned forward, and every single time his body felt the need to register the phantom heat of Crowley’s body like a furnace even when he was really sitting a good three feet away. It was torture.

He reached for the telephone sitting on the table, and dialed before he could think too much about why.

“Tracy, hello. How are you doing?”

“Azi? Is everything alright?” The voice rang through the line with elevated concern.

“Yes, Tracy, everything is alright, of course. Why wouldn’t it---” Aziraphale’s brain sputtered back to life and he snapped his gaze to the clock hanging on his wall. “ _Dear_ Lord, I am so sorry, dear. The time is---I’ll just---”

“Aziraphale, darling, it’s alright.” He could hear a yawn come from the other end, and then a scraping of a chair on floor. There was near silence as Aziraphale listened to her settle into a chair just by the telephone hanging on the wall of her kitchen, where Aziraphale knew she would normally settle in to take phone calls. “Tell me everything.”

“What?”

“I said, tell me everything. Go on, you wouldn’t have called this late unless there was something on your mind. So?”

Aziraphale hesitated for a guilty moment, before twiddling the coil of the phone cables in his hands and blurting out, “I saw him today.”

“Saw who?”

“Crowley. That man.” 

After almost an hour of Aziraphale droning on about the way the light glinted off Crowley’s locks of hair and how his smirk made Aziraphale squirm, Tracy chimed in.

“But then what’s the problem, dear? He sounds lovely enough.”

Aziraphale stopped in his tracks, unsure of how to continue. “He, uh...well, he came to the diner to ask something of me.” Tracy waited patiently. “And I would never, of course. But I can’t help but sympathize, you know? His dance partner was injured recently, and she’s unable to compete in the regionals. Awful, poor thing that Miss Device. But he was asking if I’d consider...joining him to dance and compete together.” He heard a sharp intake of breath of breath on the other end of the line and hurried to reassure her. “But of course, I told him that was impossible because I already have a wonderful dance partner, and I would never dream of finding another. A-and he was very sweet about it, he was. No hard feelings. It’s just...that’s all. That’s what’s bugging me, but...it’s nothing.”

He heard Tracy draw a deep sigh, staticky over the ancient telephone. “Dearie, I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“...Tell me what?” Aziraphale started warily.

“A few months ago, Shadwell saw an advert in the paper, a contest. I had a really good feeling, you know when I get those, right?”

“Yes, I do.” Tracy had a strange sort of intuition that, in Aziraphale’s opinion, often seemed to veer into the territory of the possibly divine, or eerily occult. When Tracy would have a feeling like that, Aziraphale knew to trust it, to the letter.

“Well, I said sign us up, Mister Shadwell, that’s the one. And we just found out a few days ago, we won!”

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Tracy! What did you win?”

“An all-paid expenses trip to Fiji, for an entire week.”

Aziraphale sputtered. “That’s fantastic! What, when?”

“The weekend of the competition, dear. That’s why…” Tracy clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I knew it was that weekend, but I still...I had that feeling. Maybe it was about this, dear. I think you’re meant to compete with this Crowley.”

“Oh, Tracy, surely---”

“Aziraphale, I don’t pretend to understand these things, but maybe the universe decided it was time your paths crossed, for whatever reason. And on top of that, you know my knees haven’t been what they used to lately. For a competition like this you need someone strong, young.”

“Oh, Tracy, I...I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell him you’ll do it, go on. Tell him, and let the universe play its games with you. I have a feeling about this one, and it’s a good one. I think you’ll win.”

“Do you?” Aziraphale said quietly.

“I do.”

They sat in silence for a long time before Aziraphale spoke up again. “So, Fiji?”

“You know I’ve been wanting to take Mister Shadwell off to the beach for a while. I could just imagine him already, all sunburnt red like a lobster.”

Aziraphale giggled. “I don’t need to imagine it, I’ve seen that shade of red every time he gets mad about how much sugar I put in my tea.”

“Oh, dear.” Tracy laughed openly. “It’ll do him good to have a vacation, be away for a bit. Him and me both.”

“Yes, it will. I’m happy for you both.” He smiled fondly. “Who will do your hair for you?”

“Oh, you’ll have to color it for me before I go, promise me.”

“Of course, Tracy.”

“And you’ll...you’ll be alright on your own?” She said tentatively.

“Yeah, Tracy. I’ll be alright. Promise.” He sighed. “Tracy, I should let you go. It’s nearly---” He glanced at the clock again. “Good Lord, I won’t even say it. I should let you sleep.”

“Call you tomorrow, dear?”

“Yes, Tracy, of course. Good night.”

He heard a quiet click as the call disconnected, and thought about setting the phone down. But he didn’t. He listened to that empty static on the line for a long time, heart skipping a beat at what he’d just set in motion. And tomorrow he would see him again, he’d see Crowley. 

And he’d tell him, then. If he could stomach it.

He finally put the phone down, closing his eyes and getting lost once again in the memories of Crowley. He didn’t like it, change, not usually, but if it involved Crowley he had a swooping thought that whatever it was, it couldn't be that bad, really.

He dragged his tired body finally into bed, and the last thoughts that bounced around in his head were the cryptic words of Madame Tracy: _I have a feeling about this one, and it’s a good one._

\----------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for being here!!! i love you all very very very much. don't forget to listen to the playlist for this fic, it is lovingly made by my partner @under_a_linden_tree and all the songs have a direct connection or influence on the story so if you really wanna get in the headspace for this story OR i list a song in the story you've never heard, definitely have a listen!  
> here it is:  
> [what a lovely way to burn](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1n42E8njlgdP4jepE42lpT)
> 
> have a wonderful weekend and don't forget you're all wonderful and deserve good things okay


	4. sweet dreams, my dear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we finally get to the actual DANCING, can you believe it took them so long to get there lol. i hope y'all like this one, just fluff and pining for you today :) i needed some softness this week, angst? we don't know her

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you like this one!! this chapter includes a lot of the music from the playlist today so for a full list and the link to the playlist scroll down to the bottom notes and i've gotcha covered ;) xx

CHAPTER FOUR

Crowley slid into his booth once again, even though that was ridiculous, because it wasn’t _his_ booth. Sure, he always sat here, and it was always conveniently empty for Crowley when he arrived, but it wasn’t _his_. But he did like to think it could be. In another world, maybe Aziraphale and Crowley were wildly in love, and maybe they met somewhere else and they discovered this place together, and maybe Crowley could’ve brought Aziraphale here on a date. This could’ve been their spot.

But it wasn’t theirs, and it wasn’t his.

He’d been sitting patiently at his (no, _the_ ) booth, waiting for Aziraphale to finish cleaning up at the end of his shift. Enjoying the quiet clinking of silverware being washed in the back, the subtle tones of the jukebox behind him. He picked at the scone Aziraphale had left for him, and felt his heart stutter at the thought.

“Ready?” A voice pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to see Aziraphale, hair frizzed and curly atop his head, evidence of a long day of work. He’d taken his apron off already, and upon looking around, Crowley noticed the entire diner had already been cleaned with an inch of its life, sparkling and ready for another day. He nodded and considered what to do with the rest of his scone before simply handing it over to Aziraphale, wiggling in place at the gift. Crowley’s heart did a little skip, and he frowned, mentally scolding the offending organ.

They walked out together in silence, and rode silently in the car, much to the growing, crawling anxiety in Crowley’s stomach. 

“Work okay?” Crowley said about a minute into their drive, the resounding quiet playing tricks on his heart. 

“Mm?”

Crowley swallowed. “I asked if, uh, if work was okay today. Any annoying people get on your nerves?”

“Erm, no. I mean, there were hardly any people today. It was...good.”

“Right,” Crowley answered, and tightened his hold on the steering wheel. He tried to steady himself. “Look, if this is about what we talked about yesterday...I want you to know it’s really alright that you said no, I get it. You know, Tracy is a wonderful dancer and I know you’re competing with her---”

“---Crowley,” he tried.

“---And you needn’t worry about me, I just wanted us to be friends, you know? If..if you still want.”

Aziraphale turned his head sharply to watch the haunting profile of Crowley, swathed in silhouettes as the passing lights sharpened his face in the light and then just as quickly drenched it in dark shadows. “We’re friends?”

“W-well, I mean I hope so. I-if you’d like, or not, it’s just---”

“Yes, I would say so, too. I was just...surprised, is all.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, Crowley?”

“Yeah?” He answered quietly, the car feeling oddly small and suffocating.

“I’ll do it. I’ll do the competition with you.”

Crowley’s head whipped away from the road so quickly that Aziraphale instinctively reached for the wheel, steadying it as best he could, and felt the car lurch. His body was now half draped over Crowley’s, and he mentally cursed the shiver that ran up his spine.

“You will?”

“Crowley, _watch the road_ , good Lord,” he said, careful not to get lost in Crowley’s wide hopeful expression.

“But..but what about Tracy?”

“She’ll be off on a trip, won a contest, it’s a long story.” Aziraphale watched as Crowley searched for words. “Look, just, I thought about it, and I think it could work. You and me. We could compete together, and we could split the money. We can, we can talk about it later, Crowley, please---”

“Oh,” Crowley sighed as he took the wheel back, righting it harshly to avoid driving up onto a sidewalk, but otherwise remaining quiet.

“Unless…” Aziraphale started tentatively. “You’ve changed your---”

“No! No, I haven’t. I would love. Love that. With you.” Crowley screwed his eyes shut, and at the sight Aziraphale sent a quick prayer up past the metal roof of the car that Crowley wouldn’t kill them both in this car before they even got to the contest. “I would love to compete with you.”

“Great. That’s all settled, then.”

Aziraphale folded his hands primly in his lap, turning to the windshield and feeling inexplicably disappointed to recognize the passing streets as he got closer to home. He felt like he’d barely had any time with Crowley today at all. He startled hearing a chuckle from beside him, and watched as the white-knuckled grip on the wheel loosened considerably.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Crowley smirked. “Just...just like that, huh?”

Aziraphale bristled. “Were you hoping for a proposal of sorts?” 

Crowley only laughed louder. “Oh, we’re going to have loads of fun, you and I. See you tomorrow, then?”

Aziraphale’s heart sank, noticing the car had stopped already, but then seemed to flutter a bit as he registered Crowley’s words, at the thought to be seeing those bright eyes again so soon. “Yes, ah, thank you again.” He moved, begrudgingly, to open the car door, when a hand stopped him, encircling his wrist unexpectedly. Aziraphale flinched at the soft touch, shivering with the tiniest of contact, and Crowley’s hand snapped back apologetically. 

“Sorry, listen,” Crowley started. “Would you, uh, well, seeing as we’re running out of time already and we’ve lots to catch up on, what would you say to practicing at mine tomorrow?”

“Practicing?” He gulped, mind immediately flashing imagined touches of running his hands down Crowley’s arms, his lithe spine, the strong muscles. “Sure, yes, tomorrow. Goodbye.” He shut the door quickly, nervous to leave but still cautious enough to not slam the door. Crowley loved that car.

He scrambled at his front door, feeling Crowley’s eyes on his back as he fumbled with the keys. He couldn’t understand why he was nervous. It was just dancing. He did this with Tracy all the time, there was nothing to it. And it was just Crowley. Just Crowley, who until quite recently Aziraphale would have considered, at best, a rival, and at worst, a selfish, rude bully. So it shouldn’t be a big deal, being in Crowley’s house, holding him close, trusting Crowley to catch him before he fell, spending time with him, risking being blinded by that smile up close and becoming mesmerized by those sun-glow eyes. 

It should be fine. Really.

\--------

“Yeah, but,” Crowley was interrupted by a loud hiccup that may have come from his own body, but he really couldn't be quite sure at this point anymore. “What I’m _saying_ , is...platypuses.” He said simply. “Weird, right?”

“Ye-p,” Aziraphale agreed, popping the ‘p’ loudly and devolving into giggles at the noise. His body rumbled with the laughter, and Crowley noticed belatedly that Aziraphale was seated cross-legged on the floor, as was he. When did that happen? “But, I don’t think it’s like that.”

“Like what?” Crowley shook his head to clear it.

“Platypuses. I think it’s platypi.”

Crowley leaned impossibly further back, sinking further into the floor, back just barely leaning against the side of the black, shiny couches arranged in Crowley’s flat. “I don’t think so, Aziraphale. Sounds...nah.”

“Like octopi.”

“Mm.”

“I like pie.” Aziraphale sighed. 

Crowley reached for the bottle of wine, having long forgone the wine glasses, and tipped the thing back, stretching his neck out languidly. He could feel a sticky drop make its way from the bottle to streak across his jaw, and he wiped his sleeve across his face as discreetly as possible hoping Aziraphale hadn’t noticed his state.

“So you’ll really do it? Competing with me? You weren’t joking, then?” He said, glancing up to find Aziraphale’s gaze already on him, face flushed a pretty pastel pink.

“Oh, dear. I forgot that’s why we’re here.”

“Hey, you’re the one that mentioned that a nice drink oughta start us off.”

Aziraphale smiled, and Crowley could feel the way just watching that smile made him feel lighter somehow, brighter. He could feel his own mouth stretching sweetly with fondness, and felt he couldn’t be bothered to tone it down at all. It felt good. 

“Ah. Well, yes, I meant it.” Aziraphale continued. “We really oughta...practice. Soon. What song will we dance to? We don’t even, we have to do a choreography, and we have to get comfortable together, and, oh, we---”

“Angel, angel. It’s going to be just fine. Promise.” 

“But how do you know? What if we---”

Crowley stood up abruptly, the alcohol in his bloodstream knocking him swiftly off balance, and just managed to right himself before losing full control of his legs. They felt spindlier than usual, and his knees knocked against each other in their attempt at balance. 

“Stand up.” He declared firmly.

“What?” The smile cleared off Aziraphale’s face quickly.

“Stand up, come on.” Crowley walked away as he spoke, pulling out a record blindly from his small collection and starting up his old record player. As the disc began to spin, the room echoed with the crackle of static, abruptly switching into a very upbeat, joyful beat.

“Crowley, I’m not even sure I can properly _stand_ right now, I---”

“Come _on_ , angel, don’t be difficult,” he said, trying not to wince at the wonderful warmth of Aziraphale’s palm as he yanked Aziraphale up from his seated position on the floor. 

“Go on, see, just...move.” Crowley began to shake his body, at first slowly, and building, until his hips swayed, his legs kicked, his hands floated in a beat he’s sure was completely off.

“I can’t dance like that, Crowley.” Hesitation tinged his voice, and Crowley was just sober enough to notice this, to notice the flush on Aziraphale’s cheek, to understand that maybe he should resist the strong pull of desire to touch his soft skin, to pull him close, to feel him moving against his own body. 

He was also just drunk enough to not care. He reached out with one hand to tangle it with Aziraphale’s fingers, and one hand wrapped solidly around Aziraphale’s waist, and he could feel the blood in his veins sing and race at the simple touches. 

“Just don’t worry about it looking good or it being right or anything, just...feel the music, let it move you.”

Aziraphale had heard this tune somewhere, he knew it. 

“Is this…. Elvis?”

Crowley laughed. “Yeah! Look at you, not so prude after all, are you?”

“I’m not _prude_ ,” Aziraphale bit back, but couldn’t keep the smile off his face upon looking at Crowley’s disbelief. “Alright, fine, I’ll prove it.” 

Crowley watched as Aziraphale moved, a bit awkwardly at first, but loose and free and shameless. He stared, intoxicated by the speckled tipsy blush on Aziraphale’s face that seemed to extend down beyond his chest, and he reveled in the tangled fingers, in the brightness that Aziraphale had created, lighting up the room with an ethereal glow. 

“That’s it, angel. Just let it out.” Crowley screwed his eyes shut and let his body move the way it instinctively knew how to, deep in his bones, letting the muscle memory move him. He kicked his feet up high, twisting and pulling Aziraphale’s body with him, guiding him ever so gently. And he wouldn’t open his eyes, he firmly decided. If he did, if he saw Aziraphale this close, he’d lose it. 

And then he opened his eyes anyway at the sound of loud surprised laughter, and was absolutely floored to see the giddiness on Aziraphale’s face so close to his, jumping and kicking along to the rhythm that Crowley had set, filling the spaces that Crowley left for him, and then quickly moving back to make room for one of Crowley’s little kicks. He pressed close, and he pulled away, and he was laughing, and for just a minute, a solid minute, the longest minute of Crowley’s life, it was just them two. Just Crowley and Aziraphale, warm and sweaty and drunk and moving and happy in a place all their own.

Aziraphale slowed gradually, panting through a wide beaming smile, and Crowley was shocked to notice the song had faded out, and already the noise faded into a new song.

Crowley’s mind scrambled to muster all its willpower and take all those thoughts, and desires, and feelings and stuff them inelegantly in the recesses of his mind. “That wasn’t so bad, now, was it?”

Aziraphale looked up swiftly and for a moment they just breathed the same air both panting, adrenaline rushing through their veins. This close up, Crowley could see those freckles like constellations, and he noticed that Aziraphale had a bit of a dimple, just there. Aziraphale stopped smiling and stepped back abruptly, hand untangling from Crowley’s.

“Yes, I...that was alright, I’d say.”

“C’mon, admit it. It was fun.”

“It was... _satisfactory_ , sure. I’m sure I have much to learn.”

“But did you have _fun_?” Crowley teased, and was pleased to see something in Aziraphale release, like a taut rope snapping, like a tension that finally just melted away. 

“Yes, I...I did.” Crowley watched a tentative smile ease its way onto Aziraphale’s face, and found himself feeling a strong tug somewhere under his ribs, an ache in his lonely little heart.

“Fantastic, I knew you would.” Crowley beamed proudly. “I have _loads_ of songs to show you, and moves, and oh, have you ever heard of Chuck Berry? Please tell me you have.”

Crowley watched that smile grow on Aziraphale’s face, a resigned one, a relieved one, a mischievous one. 

“Show me.” Crowley had already begun moving, rather, sprinting, to the record player, searching for the Berry album he knew was hiding in his stacks somewhere. “But---” Aziraphale said. “Next time we’re practicing with waltzes, more my area. You have to get comfortable with my end of things too, alright?”

“Deal.” Crowley agreed with a wolfish smile, already mentally planning how many extra hours he’d need to work this weekend at the mechanic’s in order to save enough pounds to afford some more records, ones Aziraphale would like.

\-------------

“Aziraphale, it’s been days, I don’t think I’ll ever get it.” Crowley confessed, frustration tinging his words, into the crook of Aziraphale’s neck. They had been practicing for days and days already, growing comfortable sharing their space, teaching other their tricks. Only a few days, and it felt like a lifetime together already the way they shared secrets, fears, dreams, anxieties, failings. And one of Crowley’s perceived failings was this: the waltz. They’d been practicing lindy hope for a few days, and had moved onto classic waltz, and couldn’t seem to move forward from there. Crowley couldn’t help feeling like he just wasn’t made for this, like his body was resisting it. His arms wouldn’t hold, his movements too languid.

“Oh, dear, please don’t berate yourself. You’re doing wonderful. These things take time.”

“Oh, sure, like it took _you_ so long to catch on to lindy hop and jumpin’ and all that.”

“That’s not fair. I had a wonderful teacher.” Aziraphale said sadly, hands still holding Crowley’s, completely unnecessary as they’d stopped dancing minutes ago. Crowley wanted to believe it was just accidental, but a small part of him hoped it was as much a comfort to Aziraphale as it was for him. He absently rubbed his thumb along the side of Aziraphale’s hand. 

Crowley scoffed at the blatant lie. “Yeah, well, I’ve got literally the best formal dancer in the region and I just _can’t_. It… the posture, the steps. It’s all too rigid.”

Aziraphale sighed, and Crowley’s spirit deflated even further, a tiny part of him wondering if Aziraphale would still change his mind, would ask Tracy to come back, wouldn’t dare to compete with this sorry dancer. “Look, let’s try something else, alright? You’ll get the hang of it.”

Aziraphale finally let go of Crowley’s hand, fingers slipping slowly, and Crowley’s hand almost instinctively chased after it. He didn’t turn as Aziraphale dug through his records, and tried to reel himself back in as he heard the tell-tale static start up again, a new song about to play. He tried his best smile on as Aziraphale came into view once more, and he straightened his back valiantly, trying again for that strict posture, those harsh angles.

Aziraphale slid back into position, resting a calming hand on Crowley’s waist, and Crowley tried not to react, and wondered when his body would stop fluttering with every touch. 

A warm, motherly voice, aching in its softness, began to drift around the flat, seeming to crackle with static around the edges. Aziraphale began to move slowly, pulling Crowley with him as he went, adjusting positions as he went, whispering to Crowley about keeping that elbow out, his gaze ahead. Crowley couldn’t take it. His body ached with the effort, muscles burning from all his extra hours at work, and from the incessant practicing when he was alone, when nobody could see him, when Aziraphale came over, night after night. He’d never be good enough for Aziraphale, in more ways than he was willing to admit, and his heart ached with it. 

He was shocked out of his thoughts to hear another soft voice, a lower timbre, just by his ear, join in the music. 

“ _Que sera, sera...whatever will be, will be. The future’s not ours to see, que sera, sera...what will be, will be._ ”

Crowley watched the mouth, so close to his, mouthing the words unconsciously.

“You’re a wonderful singer,” he whispered, and could feel himself fall just a little bit more for the man in his arms at the ensuing flush of red on Aziraphale’s face, even up to his ears. 

His mouth clamped shut. “Sorry.” Aziraphale muttered quietly.

“What for?”

“Just...I quite like this song. I didn’t mean to sing it.”

“Well. Like I said, you’re pretty good. So. I don’t mind.”

“You don’t?” Aziraphale turned to the redhead. 

“It’s nice. Calms me down a bit.” Crowley admitted carefully, unsure why he said that, only that he wanted to reassure Aziraphale, get that look off his face. And maybe he wanted to hear more, be closer, have this thing just for himself.

“Oh. Well. Thank you, dear.” It was Crowley’s turn to let embarrassment color his cheeks, and only held on tighter to the hand in his.

\-------

Aziraphale sighed and closed his eyes, body moving to a familiar tune that sounded just a bit distant, just a bit faded. He could feel a crisp breeze on his neck, sneaking under the collar of his bowtie.

“Angel,” he heard in his ear, and was surprised to open his eyes and see the most familiar amber-honey eyes before him. The hand on his waist tightened. “Alright?”

“Yes. Alright.” Aziraphale blinked, and looked around him, suddenly unsure of how he got here. They were outside, and a band played from somewhere, but Aziraphale could see no other people, no other movement. 

“I’m glad you said yes,” Crowley said, but his voice was so soft and adoring it almost couldn’t have been him, even though it couldn’t have been anyone else. His hair was perfectly styled and he was dressed to the nines in a black tie and a striking white suit tailored perfectly to his curves, his edges. 

“Yes?” He echoed.

“You and me.” Aziraphale’s brain scrambled. What conversation had they just been having? Where were they? His eye caught on the glint of silver on Crowley’s hand, the one that held his tightly. “We can have forever now. You and me. We’ll get that bookshop. We’ll get a lovely little flat for us both, we can do it.”

Aziraphale’s eyes sparkled, and he noticed he could just see the reflection of starlight in Crowley’s eyes, and still they swayed to the impossible music, the gentle voices, the sway of violins, of a gentle beat.

_Stars shining bright above you,_

_Night breezes seem to whisper, ‘I love you,’_

_Birds singing in the sycamore trees,_

_Dream a little dream of me._

“Crowley.” Aziraphale whispered, and didn’t miss the tighter press of Crowley against his chest, the way he felt cradled by the embrace. He felt safe. He felt warm.

_Sweet dreams ‘till sunbeams find you,_

_Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you._

_But in your dreams, whatever they be,_

_Dream a little dream of me._

Crowley leaned forward, and their noses brushed. Aziraphale gasped at the proximity, and impossibly leaned forward as well. Their lips almost touched, they were so close, and Aziraphale closed his eyes and edged forward.

He startled, and he could feel the dream slipping, the hand in his disappearing, the warmth disappear, and he could’ve cried.

“Rise and shine, sweetheart!” Aziraphale’s eyes snapped open, and he saw a fully dressed Crowley walking around the living room in the bright light of dawn breaking in through his windows, the light casting a bit of a halo around his form as it wandered around. “You fell asleep last night, after dancing. We had a bit too much to drink, eh? It’s alright. You’re tired, no problem.”

Aziraphale sat up, and found that a blanket had been wrapped around his sleeping form, bent at awkward angles on the sofa.

Crowley jangled his keys in his hand and stuffed the other hand into his pocket. “Drive ya home?”

Aziraphale’s mind was still reeling, so close to Crowley, a wild fantasy to be sure, but seconds ago so real. 

Dear Lord, this was getting to be quite messy, wasn’t it?

“Yes. Please. Thank you.”

“You’ve got a bit of drool, just there.” Crowley pointed to the corner of his own mouth, and Aziraphale’s hand shot up to wipe at the offending corner, before Crowley’s sweet little laugh rang out.

“Kidding, you’re fine. Fancy some breakfast? I’ll take you anywhere you wanna go.”

Aziraphale’s heart wrenched at the easy domesticity of it, at the way he suddenly felt vulnerable, like the floor could swallow him up whole, like he was falling, falling, and nothing to grab hold of but tousled red hair.

_Oh, good Lord._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> don't forget to check out the [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1n42E8njlgdP4jepE42lpT) for this story!! today's chapter referenced:
> 
> blue suede shoes - elvis presley  
> rock and roll music - chuck berry  
> que sera, sera (whatever will be, will be) - doris day  
> dream a little dream of me - doris day, paul weston and his orchestra
> 
> thank y'all so much for reading :) this story is such a wonderful little escape for me and i hope it can be that for y'all too. thank you for being here week after week and supporting this story, every hit and kudos and comment makes my heart ache immeasurably and i see y'all and i love you and i hope you have a WONDERFUL weekend. drink some tea. relax a little. y'all deserve it.


	5. are you lonesome tonight?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the two boys test out their skills, and we get ever closer to their competition!!!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh man i deeply deeply apologize for being gone so long. i know i had said that i would update more frequently but unfortunately life has been very rough on me recently and i just have no time in my days to write. i am so glad i could finally update today and i thank you for your patience in following this story and watching it develop!! i appreciate all of y'all. hopefully this chapter makes up for the wait!! :) xx

CHAPTER FIVE

\-----------------------

“Hey.”

“Mm.” Aziraphale mumbled through a mouth full of dessert. It was a dingy little spot they were dining at, nothing too fancy, but Crowley had a knack for making every place feel like the Ritz. He was always dressed to the nines, the epitome of cool, suave, beautiful. Today, they were having dinner on one of the rare and blessed days that Aziraphale had the night off from work. Crowley always mysteriously seemed to have the evening off early when Aziraphale did, and Aziraphale was starting to get the idea that maybe Crowley had lied about when he actually got out of work. Most days when he picked up Aziraphale from work, he looked put together, clean and shaven, nicely dressed. On days Aziraphale had the night off, Crowley instead smelled a little like diesel, and his hair was slightly messier, like he’d been running his hands through it over and over.

“Angel.”

“Yes, what is it, dear?”

“You’re not listening. Your mind’s a million miles away, I can tell.”

“Can you?”

“Yeah, you do that. What were you thinking of?” He leaned forward, scratching his chin absently as Aziraphale continued to speak through his full mouth.

“Did you just get off work?” Aziraphale asked, dabbing his napkin daintily on the corners of his lips.

“Mm. Yeah, I got out early today so we could have dinner, you know that.”

“Do you always get off this time?”

“No. I get out at ten.”

“Eleven.”

“Right, eleven.”

Aziraphale eyed him suspiciously. “That’s funny because I actually thought the mechanic’s shop was only open until six every day.”

Crowley’s eyes widened and his face flushed, bringing out a smattering of freckles just over his nose. “Ngk, well, yeah. It does, but. Well, I stay after and work on the cars. You know. Mechanic...stuff.”

“Is that so?”

“Mm.”

“Until eleven?”

“Yep.” Crowley enunciated the word carefully, as he ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Lots of...work.”

Aziraphale smiled knowingly, and guided another forkful of food into his mouth. “Mm-hm.”

Crowley sputtered. “Anyway, that’s not what I wanted to talk about.”

The waiter came by to refill drinks, and Crowley seemed to let out a deep nervous breath, and leaned back into his chair, sprawling in a way that should have seemed casual and collected but that Aziraphale could see was a little anxious, a little tense. 

They both waited patiently until the waiter walked away, and Crowley sprung forward across the table. 

“I really do work late, you know. Not always, but---”

“Do you?”

“I didn’t use to, but then I figured I could work a few more hours, and you and I we’d get out at the same time, and then I could have a little extra money for…”

Crowley could feel his face heat up once again and his skin felt too tight over his body, over his face. “For?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

_For our little dates,_ Crowley almost said. _So I could take you out wherever you wanted to go, so you could eat whatever you liked. In case you needed anything, I could be there for you. In case you wanted a new record to play at my place, in case you wanted something to sing to, to dance to. So you would never have to worry, and you’d never have to want for anything._

“For...you know. I don’t know.” Crowley said elegantly and watched Aziraphale’s brows furrow adorably. “Anyway. I wanted to talk to you about something.”

Crowley watched Aziraphale open his mouth to say something, and promptly close it. He pressed his lips together, and Crowley watched as the fight went out of his eyes. “Of course, dear. What is it?”

“We’ve been practicing for two weeks now.”

“Yes, we have.” 

“I think it’s time we put our work to the test.” He smiled carefully, watching the way Aziraphale scrambled to understand.

“To the...to the test? What do you have in mind?”

“There’s this party, I think you’d like it.”

“Oh, whose is it?” Aziraphale asked curiously.

“Eh, you...you wouldn’t know ‘em.” Crowley watched the way Aziraphale’s body wiggled ( _wiggled_ ) with excitement, and his stomach clenched a bit guiltily. “Friend from work. Doesn’t matter. But it would be a nice place to practice in front of a crowd, what do you think?”

“And when would this party be?”

“Couple nights from now. Saturday.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Aziraphale said. “I…”

Crowley swallowed. “What is it?”

He watched the way Aziraphale twisted the napkin in his hands, and wished desperately that he could snake his fingers in between Aziraphale’s to soothe whatever was on his mind. He actually had to consciously stop himself from doing it; his body was starting to get confused as to when it was okay to touch, and when it absolutely, definitely wasn’t.

“I don’t know, Crowley. I don’t feel like I’m...ready yet.”

“Nonsense, angel, you’re ready.” Crowley narrowed his eyes at the strange silence. “Unless it’s something else?”

“No,” Aziraphale corrected too quickly. “No, of course. Yes. That’s...yes.”

Crowley leaned forward on the table and studied the face before him. It was strange. but hardly more than two weeks had passed and Crowley felt like he knew Aziraphale inside and out. He’d always felt a little detached from things, from people; maybe he had just always been built like that, or maybe he distanced himself on purpose, he couldn't be sure anymore. Crowley had learned a long time ago that it was easier to be like that, pretending like nothing ever got to you, and people left you alone. Brick by brick he built sturdy walls, and no one got in, and no one got hurt. It was better that way.

Except for Aziraphale. He got in, somehow. And Crowley couldn’t really find it in him to feel angry, or scared. He’d catalogued every habit, every look, every gaze that Aziraphale had given him, and he knew this one, this one right now twisting before him. This one was pained, somehow. Crowley couldn’t figure out what he had done to bring it about, only that he didn’t like it. And that if he ever figured out the cause of it, he would make it right, whatever it was.

“Hey,” Crowley said quietly, reaching a hand tentatively across the table, stopping short just as it crossed into Aziraphale’s half of the table. “What is it, really? You can tell me, right?” He tried. “You can tell me anything, you know that.”

For a second Crowley could see how Aziraphale’s eyes widened, trailing a line all the way from the tips of Crowley’s fingers so close to him up to Crowley’s face, searching for something there. 

He didn’t find it, it seemed, and Crowley felt his heart lurch painfully, knowing the words that were coming before they even made it out. 

Aziraphale turned his gaze back to his plate. “It’s nothing, Crowley. Really. Nothing you...need to worry about.”

Crowley swallowed. “Right.”

They sat in relative silence as Aziraphale scraped his plate, nearly empty, simply smearing the lingering sauce behind with the tines of his fork. 

“We should still go.”

Crowley blinked in confusion. “Yeah?”

“Yes, it’s...like you said. Good practice.”

Crowley fidgeted. “You sure? Because...we don’t have to, really, I just thought--”

“Yes, of course, Crowley. It’ll be fun. A night out on the town with you, should be nice, wouldn’t you think?”

Crowley beamed suddenly, his heart struggling to keep up with the roller coaster of emotions Crowley had been sending it on. “Perfect. Yeah, it’ll be..it'll be loads of fun.” He took a big swig of his wine glass. “Oh, you’ll need a suit.”

“A suit?”

“Yes, very formal.”

Aziraphale pouted, and Crowley’s mind traitorously derailed at those lips. “How formal?”

“Oh...just, as formal as ya got. You need anything dry cleaned? I gotta take my suit over too, I’ll drop it off for you.”

“Oh, but it’ll be expensive for both, I---”

“Don’t worry, angel. It’s all covered; I know the owner. Go on, finish your dessert.”

He did not, in fact, know the owner.

\-----------------

Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie, utterly convinced for the thousandth time that it was crooked, and every time he tried to fix it in the mirror it just looked worse and worse. It was useless. His hair stood up at strange angles and the suit felt a little too tight. He was already sweating underneath his waistcoat, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Crowley would be able to feel it when he held him close, and the thought of the possibility only made him sweat more. He was miserable, and if he could he would’ve given anything at all to cancel and hide away in his little home where no one could judge him, and he’d be okay.

Except that it was Crowley, and he could never disappoint Crowley. _And_ Crowley was due outside to pick him up any second now. He smeared his sweaty palms down his trouser pants, and tugged harshly on the suit jacket, wondering what Crowley would think, whether he’d be impressed, whether he’d...

Maybe he should change. 

He yanked at his bowtie as he paced to the window, peeking out of the blinds as the tie fell apart around his neck, loosening the asphyxiating hold around his throat. As he looked, he noticed that Crowley’s car sat idle outside his place already, lights off, motor running. How long had he been there already?

Aziraphale looked down and gave a quick once-over on himself before dashing out the front door, turning out lights as he went. By the time he’d made it out to the car, Crowley had already stepped out of it, leaning quite sinfully across the side door. His hands were balled into fists in his pockets until the moment that he heard footsteps sidling up, upon which he straightened up like a puppet on a string and flashed a debonair smile ahead. 

The smile softened as Aziraphale came closer, until it was something unfairly fond, and Aziraphale’s heart ached at the sight. 

“Aziraphale,” Crowley breathed. “You look…”

Aziraphale waited just a breath before blurting out, “I know, I was gonna change but I noticed you were here, and so now I just---”

“You look really nice, angel. Just..wonderful.” Crowley reached out to straighten one of the lapels on Aziraphale’s coat, and the corners of his smile dipped ruefully. “The girls will be all over you, I’m sure. Here,” he murmured, and Aziraphale inhaled deeply, struck suddenly by the scent of cologne coming from Crowley’s neck as he came ever closer. He felt careful fingers reach around his throat, and blood rushed under his skin. He was struck by a sudden shiver, and hoped that Crowley would mistake it for a mere physical reaction to the cold.

He could feel as shaky fingers traced around his neck and down the sides, gripping the loose bowtie strands in a tender grip. “Lucky I know how to tie these things,” Crowley breathed, and Aziraphale could feel the hot breath skate over the goosebumps of his skin. He had no place to look but directly forward into Crowley’s eyes not six inches away, as they stubbornly kept their gaze at Aziraphale’s tie. 

“There,” Crowley cleared his throat and stepped away slowly. “Ready?”

Aziraphale’s breath rushed out hotly between cold lips, and he noticed Crowley was already standing by the door, hand resting gently to hold the car door open, other hand extended out to take Aziraphale’s hand as he stepped in.

_Always such a gentleman._

Aziraphale climbed in on shaky legs and tried not to think about hands, and warmth, and want.

Aziraphale noticed something very strange, as they got closer and closer to the event. He had no way of knowing exactly where it was in town, but he could tell just how close they were by the increasingly blanching color of Crowley’s knuckles as he impossibly tightened his grip on the steering wheel. By the time they arrived, Aziraphale was sure Crowley’s fingers must be nearly numb, or at least cramped.

“Please don’t be mad.”

Aziraphale’s nerves immediately skyrocketed as Crowley pulled the car into park.

“Mad?” He parroted, and he could feel the scowl form on his face in seconds as he took in Crowley’s pinched face and his impressive complete lack of eye contact. He groaned. “Oh, Crowley, what did you do?”

“I asked you not to be mad.” Crowley said seriously, and his expression only grew more pained with every word.

“Crowley.”

“Yes, alright. I...so I don’t actually know the people at this party.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Oh, that’s..not so bad, I guess.” He chuckled.

“And it’s a wedding.”

The silence could’ve swallowed the Bentley whole, and everyone in it.

“A wedding?”

“Y-yes.”

“We’re...wedding crashing?”

“Wait---”

“ _Crowley_ , absolutely _not_ \---”

“No, but it’s a friend from work, _kind of_ \---”

“What do you mean kind of?”

“Like a client who may have mentioned a wedding---”

“And you just _decided_ we should go? Crowley, there’s no way they won’t---”

“They won’t! They won’t. I promise. Please, just. It’s a good place to practice, it’ll be fun, and if we’re really bad they’ll never see us again. C’mon, it’s perfect. Just. We’re already here.”

Aziraphale stared up at Crowley, still slightly taller than him even sitting down. He could wrap a hand around his neck and bring him down and crash their lips together, if he wanted to.

He wanted to.

“Wedding crashing. Just…” He sighed. “Crowley, that’s terrible.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Crowley teased, a little smile tentatively making its way back onto his face. “I mean it’s not _that_ bad.”

“Oh, is that so?”

“I could’ve...I don’t know, invited you to crash at a funeral or something.”

“Nobody dances at funerals.”

“Yes, exactly. Which is why I had the decency to at least invite you to a wedding.”

“Of someone you don’t know.”

“Well, I could hardly persuade anyone I know to get married on two weeks’ notice, now could I? No fancy parties for us to sidle into. ‘M gettin’ kinda tired of the ambience in my flat, you know? Never enough of a crowd.”

Aziraphale, despite every polite and well-mannered bone in his body that absolutely refused to attend a wedding, a _wedding_ , uninvited, found the fight slowly seeping out from his pores. He thought about holding Crowley close, and it suddenly didn’t matter where they were. Only that he could do it, and nobody would think twice. “You fiend,” he laughed. “Such a silver tongue on you.”

“Oh, I’ve got a tongue on me, alright.” 

If Aziraphale had, in that moment, the ability to do anything but stare straight ahead and pull himself together at the thought, at the _insinuation_ , he might have noticed Crowley doing the same. 

“Right.” Crowley cleared his throat. “Yes, well. Ngk. Wedding. Us.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened, images of that dream, that now recurring dream that wouldn’t stop sneaking its way into his subconscious night after night and now plaguing his daytime thoughts and fantasies, rushing through his mind unbidden, worrying if somehow, some way, Crowley knew _exactly_ what Aziraphale was thinking of.

“No, I mean...yeah. Okay.” Crowley stuttered helplessly before slamming the door open with no warning and nearly jumping out. In two quick strides he was already at Aziraphale’s door, peeling it open with a racket that echoed through the streets and waiting impatiently for Aziraphale to step out.

“Ah, th-thank you. Dear. Yes. Wedding.” Aziraphale swallowed thickly, and they began what felt like a death march straight to the doors of the beautiful hall decked in white ribbons and bows. 

“Okay, just don’t look at anyone in particular,” Crowley whispered, breaking the silence. Aziraphale edged closer to Crowley, and found that, before he could realize what he was doing, had pulled a hand under Crowley’s arm, gripping it like a lover might. 

No, like a dancer. Yes. That’s all it is.

Crowley placed a warm, reassuring hand over Aziraphale’s, now curved around his elbow, and they both let out a sigh. Both of them pretended not to notice.

“So we mingle for a bit, just walk around. Talk amongst ourselves, and then when the dancing starts, we edge in. Don’t make conversation with _anyone_. And we should grab a drink. It’ll make us look less suspicious.”

“Yes. Drink would be good, dear.”

“Alright. Sidecar?” Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer but Crowley kept speaking. “No, you’ll want a red wine, won’t you? Nothing too dry. Yeah, be right back.”

Aziraphale’s heart surged at the way Crowley knew him so well already, knew everything about him, listened carefully to everything Aziraphale ever said to him.

“Hello.”

Aziraphale startled, hearing a soft, voice coming from his shoulder. He looked to his right and found a young woman, just about his age probably, holding a dainty little cocktail in one hand. Her skirt flared beautifully, shades of satin pink and purples. She had red hair.

“Oh. Ah, hello, dear.” Aziraphale said. He couldn’t just ignore her, now could he?

“What’s your name?”

“Uh,” Aziraphale scrambled. His name was much too uncommon to be giving out at places he shouldn’t be. He looked out onto the crowd and picked a name at random. “James.”

“Nice to meet you, James. My name is Claire.”

“Oh, it’s, uh, wonderful to meet you, Claire. Your dress is very beautiful.”

“Thank you!” She twirled around a bit to make the folds of the dress sway, and Aziraphale noticed that she was pretty, her bouncing red curls framing high cheekbones, her eyes a little wild, a little too focused. A bit like Crowley’s. “You don’t look so bad yourself, mister. You look like...professor meets...debonair spy. Like James Bond. It’s a great look for you.”

Aziraphale blinked, and was pretty sure there were spots of color on his face. He was unused to being flirted with. 

She spoke up again. “Would you care to dance?”

Aziraphale’s heart jumped, mind immediately searching for a reason that he couldn’t, a way to let her down kindly without being rude, when a deep, smooth voice drawled by his ear.

“Actually, he’s already spoken for.” Crowley said, sidling up close to Aziraphale’s side, a strange expression on his face and he held his chin up high.

The woman, Claire, looked between the two of them, something clicking into place in her mind. “Ah.” 

The silence dragged on too long before Crowley stuttered out. “For-for dancing. He’s spoken for...because we---”

“I see.” Claire said, a small smile playing on her lips. “I understand. Well, you both make a very sweet pair, if I may say so.” Crowley opened his mouth wide, brows furrowed, heart in his throat, before she added, “For dancing. Yes. I’ll just head off. Enjoy the party, James.” She threw a dashing wink over her shoulder and walked off into the crowd, taking a delicate sip with ruby-red lips from her little cocktail.

Crowley stepped briskly away, and Aziraphale missed the warmth.

“I didn’t mean...it wasn’t like---” Crowley’s hands fluttered in front of him. “You can go after her, if you like. She’s..she’s very pretty, I can see why you...Yeah, she’s nice, I liked her. We don’t have to dance, why don’t you---”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale locked eyes with Crowley’s, and there was some hurt there, in the glimmer of amber. “She was sweet. But I’m not here to dance with her. I’m here to dance with you.”

Crowley let out a controlled breath from deep within his lungs and his shoulders sagged a bit. “Oh. Right.” He looked down, and seemed to remember why he’d gone in the first place. “H-here’s your drink.”

Aziraphale took the glass of wine, careful not to brush fingers with Crowley as he took it, and took a big whiff, letting out a contented sigh at the glorious smell. Of course Crowley would pick a good wine for him. 

Aziraphale felt a hot rush under his skin as he could tangibly feel Crowley’s eyes on him, following his every movement, and he slowly took a sip of the wine, making sure to taste it wholeheartedly, to appreciate the smell, the tang, the sweetness. He let out a soft noise of appreciation and opened his eyes languidly to see Crowley’s gaze still on him, on his mouth, on his wine-tinted lips. Crowley looked up, and surprisingly didn’t waiver, didn’t blink. Just looked at Aziraphale quietly, something dangerous in his eyes, and Aziraphale looked back. 

“Aziraphale.”

“Y-yes?” He held his breath. Crowley was so close.

“Why did she call you James?”

The spell broke, and Aziraphal began to fiddle with the stem of his wineglass, glancing around nervously. “I-well, it was the first thing I thought of. Because. Well, I can’t just give out my name, you know, not many Aziraphales in town, you know.”

“So...James?”

“Just...popped in my head. ‘Cause...like because we’re undercover.”

Crowley laughed, a loud, distracting thing, the long line of his neck extended. “Like James Bond, you mean?”

“Maybe,” Aziraphale admitted. 

“Ah, angel. Look at you.” He laughed again. “You know my middle name is James.”

Aziraphale blinked. “Is it really?”

“Yep. I thought she was talking to me, I was confused. Ah, James.” Crowley regarded him carefully. “I don’t think you look like a James.”

Aziraphale scanned Crowley’s face. “I’m not sure you look like a James, though, either. Crowley suits you just fine.”

Crowley smiled, fond, a gentle thing, when the band began to play, and the music gradually picked up. Couples started flocking to the dance floor, and Crowley snuck a hand to circle Aziraphale’s wrist. “Ready?”

\---

It was absolutely exhilarating. Aziraphale had never felt so alive as he did when Crowley pressed his fingers around his waist in a death grip, pulling him over for a jump, or twisting him wildly for a spin. They moved like they’d moved a thousand times before, but this time it was wild, it was intoxicating, it was full of energy and hot breaths. Crowley smiled the entire time, a wide, open thing that made Aziraphale wonder whether it made his cheeks hurt. He could feel his own cheeks stretching with the pull of his own giddy laugh, and he had the most fun that he’d had in...well, in years. 

_Number forty-seven said to number three,_

_‘You’re the cutest jailbird I ever did see,_

_I sure would be delighted with your company,_

_Come and do the Jailhouse Rock with me, let’s rock…_

It was different with people watching. It felt almost voyeuristic, like they were doing something that was just for them, but the thrill of people watching made it all the more breathtaking. They had to do it perfect lest they crash into each other or fall and make a spectacle, but it lacked the pressure of a competition so that it was just them having fun, existing in this world together, as a unit. Aziraphale felt a thrill as people watched them dance, and hoped they were looking at Crowley, hoped they were grateful to see him this way, hoped they knew how lucky they were to see him do that which he loved to do. Crowley deserved to have people look at him, and to see how wonderful he was.

He also hoped that the people who saw them together were just the tiniest bit jealous, the way Aziraphale had been, once upon a time, watching Crowley dance with Anathema. He almost hoped people would assume they were together, if only so Aziraphale could pretend along with them.

It got worse, after, when all the fun, upbeat, dancing songs were done. The band slowly drifted their tone into something quieter, into something softer, and when the crooning began, Aziraphale couldn’t help but lean into Crowley’s body that much more, couldn’t help but catch his breath from the crook of Crowley’s warm neck. He snuck a hand underneath Crowley’s suit jacket, and rested a hand on Crowley’s ribs, running his thumb up and down soothingly.

_Are you lonesome tonight,_

_Do you miss me tonight?_

_Are you sorry we drifted apart?_

_Does your memory stray to a bright summer day,_

_When I kissed you and called you sweetheart?_

They didn’t say much, and didn’t need to. Aziraphale was afraid to put words to this fragile thing, this gradual gravity that was pulling them together, this magnetism, this meant-to-be feeling that thrummed in his veins, in his bones. It seemed Crowley had the same predicament, and they swayed gently to the soft songs for far too long. 

“Angel,” Crowley whispered right into Aziraphale’s ear.

“Hmm.”

“Someone’s watching us.”

“What?” Aziraphale opened his eyes, unaware that they had drifted closed somewhere in the song, his face tightly pressed into Crowley’s shoulder as they waltzed. 

“I think they’re coming this way. We should go.”

Aziraphale glanced up from his cocoon of warmth, of Crowley, and was shocked to see the face he was falling for so very, very close. 

“C’mon,” Crowley said, and pulled apart slowly, winding a hand around Aziraphale’s elbow. “I think that’s the father of the bride probably here to ask who the hell we are. Act natural, and follow me. Walk quickly.” He said with a small smile, and Aziraphale wasn’t sure if it was to mimic a natural conversation or for the thrill of the chase, the mischievous nature of Crowley peeking out at the hint of trouble.

Crowley led them out of the main room and down a small hallway, before abruptly pulling them both into a dark, tiny coatroom. It was impossibly dark, and Aziraphale could feel the sleeves of so many jackets and shawls hanging beside his head. Crowley pressed forward on Aziraphale, caging him in place, and pressed a hot hand over his mouth. He held his breath.

They could hear voices outside in hushed tones.

“Excuse me, did you see two gentlemen walking around over here?”

“Mm, no, sir. I don’t think so. Who is it you’re looking for?”

“I don’t know, no one seems to know who they are. Let me know if you see them, one’s got bright red hair, the other’s a blond.”

“Yes, sir. Enjoy the rest of your evening, sir.”

There was a noise of two pairs of shoes clicking away slowly, and a hollow silence remained.

“There, we should be okay now,” Crowley said, before sliding the hand off of Aziraphale’s mouth. He laughed, Aziraphale could feel the hot breath of it, but it was so dark he couldn’t tell what this face looked like, where his mouth was. He reached a hand forward to grip onto the edge of Crowley’s jacket, unconsciously keeping him from stepping back. 

Crowley held his breath, Aziraphale could hear it, physically hear it, and wondered if Crowley could also hear the rushing thunder of the blood in his ears, the frantic beat of his heart. Crowley slid his hand from Aziraphale’s face across his jaw, and then gripped at his neck.

“Aziraphale,” he whispered before pressing in even closer, the darkness giving him anonymity, giving him courage. 

Aziraphale snuck a hand under his suit jacket to wrap around his waist, and then pushed further so his hand could press against the small of Crowley’s back, pressing him further forward still.

He could feel it, feel the way Crowley’s body caged in closer, how it pressed him against the wall, how Crowley’s mouth came closer to his own somewhere in the suffocating darkness. 

“Angel, I…”

“Yes.” Aziraphale said, knowing the question before he even spoke it, and boldly reached a hand to card through fire-red hair, soft and giving in his fingers, and pulled Crowley down to press their lips together.

Maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was the adrenaline rushing still through his veins, or maybe it was that aching love that had lived in his chest for weeks now, and that finally felt brave enough to spill out in the safety of the dark. 

The kiss was aching, too, as Crowley pushed forward, thin lips gliding wetly over his, pressing in deeply, soft noises emerging from the back of Crowley’s throat. It felt crushing, and still soft. So soft.

Aziraphale let out a startled moan as he felt a knee press in between his legs, and Crowley pulled back suddenly, gasping, before Aziraphale could yank him back down, and made another noise of appreciation. Crowley craned his neck to mouth at Aziraphale’s jaw, tracing the soft slope of it, before settling in under his ear, nipping carefully, running wet lips over a spot that made Aziraphale whine. 

“Shh,” Crowley whispered. “They’ll hear.”

“ _Crowley_.”

“Mm.” He continued to mouth at the skin under his, working his way under the bowtie as much as he was able to without working it off.

“Can we go home?”

Crowley pulled back, and Aziraphale felt a cold, full-body shiver run down his entire body. “Of course, angel. My place.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs for this week were:  
> jailhouse rock - elvis presley (loml)  
> are you lonesome tonight? - henry burr
> 
> hope you enjoyed today's chapter!!! thank you all SO SO much for all the support, thank you for every hit, kudo, share, comment, all of it!! thanks for being here and reading, it means a whole lot and i hope you're enjoying the story. see you soon for the final chapter :) <3


	6. fever all through the night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they're both just...such idiots i'm so sorry. but there's a happy ending so, here we are!!!!

Aziraphale’s heart was racing. It had been since they sneaked out of the closet, narrowly avoiding being spotted by any of the guests. It had been when Crowley pressed them both against the outside wall of the event, the cold air nipping sharply at their exposed necks, shocking their warm skin. Crowley had laughed hysterically, watching Aziraphale’s face in disbelief as it laughed along with his. Aziraphale’s heart was beating out of his chest when Crowley tangled his fingers into Aziraphale’s own, and dragged him running down the long cement sidewalk and back to the gleaming velvet-black car.

Aziraphale’s heart was still racing when they climbed into the car and began to drive away, panting from their running, from everything else. But now, Aziraphale’s heart was racing not out of that pure giddiness he’d felt, that exhilaration. It felt like fear. It felt like fear that maybe Crowley hadn’t really meant that, that Crowley was just drunk, that Crowley was confused, that he wanted this when really he didn’t, not with Aziraphale. 

Aziraphale turned to look at the face beside his, and watched the streetlights flash across his face every once in a while. His face was still stretched into a sweet, hopeful smile and Aziraphale longed to kiss right into, knowing full well he could if he wanted to, and yet.

Once again, this was too good to be true.

He knew this feeling. He’d felt it at a diner, many years ago. He’d had a feeling, and he was right. He’d had a feeling that Crowley was a man who liked to tease, who liked to test boundaries, who liked to push just to see who would push back. And when Aziraphale had pushed back that night, when he’d called him out on it, he’d seen how Crowley reacted. Upset, angry, hurt.

He didn’t want to see that look again. They were doing so well.

“Angel?” Aziraphale blinked to notice that they were already at Crowley’s flat. The car long since stopped and turned off. He could just make out Crowley’s face in the darkness, and his heart sank as he watched it twist from that lingering laughter into something sad and uncertain. “We’re, uh, we’re here. Everything…okay?”

“Yes.” Aziraphale croaked out. 

Crowley had something to say, Aziraphale watched the words try to crawl their way out from his throat, but they got stuck there. Crowley swallowed with a click, and climbed out of the car quietly. After opening the car door for Aziraphale they both walked up in silence, up the stairs and into the nice, chilly little flat that Crowley called home. It felt like wading through molasses the whole way up there; slow, and disheartening.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale started carefully once they had stepped into the flat. They had peeled their coats off and placed them by the door. “I---”

“Wine?” Crowley blurted out. “I’ve got your favorite, and look, I just found this one a few days ago. It’s a good one.”

Aziraphale opened his mouth, and wrung his hands anxiously back and forth, his gut twisting at the sight of Crowley puttering around, like this was nothing, like they hadn’t just…

“Or some cocoa? I know sometimes, ‘cause it’s late, sometimes you like cocoa and I have cocoa ‘cause I bought some ‘cause, I remember you said one time---”

“Crowley.” Aziraphale started again, needing to know, needing to understand what was happening, why he had done that, what it meant to Crowley, if it was just...god, he hoped it wasn't just---

“It’s fine.” Crowley said when he noticed there weren’t any more words coming. “It’s fine. We don’t have to... I know it was just. ‘Cause, you know. But it doesn’t have to change anything. For us. We can forget it. There, it’s forgotten. See? All fine.”

Aziraphale’s heart clenched. Things were always too good to be true, when it came to Crowley. Every time he made himself believe it, that they could...that maybe Crowley actually _liked_...but it was no matter. He pulled up his shoulders and blinked away at the sting in his eyes. 

“Of course. It’s...forgotten.”

Crowley’s shoulders sagged impossibly. “Right.”

“So. I’m sorry, I guess I should…go, then.” Aziraphale reached for his coat, knowing he’d never find a cab this late, and resigning himself to the long, long walk.

“No, angel, wait,” Crowley had deposited the bottle of wine he had grabbed on the table and was quickly beside him, much too close, and Aziraphale could feel the way Crowley’s hand had almost, almost reached out to encircle his wrist, could feel the tantalizing heat of him, remembered with a sudden intimate clarity what the man’s hands felt like in his hair, behind his neck, gripping his thighs, what his knee felt like pressed against him. “You don’t have to leave. You can stay at my place, if you like. Just...stay.”

Aziraphale couldn’t look back up, he’d lose his self-control, his steadiness. If one could call this current state of being ‘steady’.

“You can take my bed.” Crowley said definitively, already walking away briskly. “You always take the couch so you take my bed and I’ll take the couch and tomorrow I’ll drive you home and we just...forget everything. How’s that? O-or I can take you home now, actually, if you like, I’m sorry---”

“Yes, I’ll. I’ll stay, Crowley.” He watched Crowley deflate like a children’s balloon out of the corner of his eye.

“Good. Yes. Okay.” Crowley disappeared for a moment, leaving Aziraphale to stand there alone for far too long, unsure of what he could touch, where he could go, when Crowley was suddenly just across him, shoving a dark bundle of fabric into his hands. “Those are mine, obviously, but you can. Those are yours. Room’s just...that way.”

Aziraphale swallowed thickly and ran his hands over the fabric. He could see the size of the charcoal grey shirt in his hands, a beautiful pajama set, and he knew they were brand new. They felt washed, and they smelled clean but it was obviously new. And apart from the color, they were nothing at all like something Crowley would wear. And they were quite obviously much too large for Crowley’s long, lanky frame. No, Crowley had just bought this, for someone larger than himself, maybe even just about Aziraphale’s size. 

He rubbed his thumb over the lining, and muttered a quiet, “Thank you, dear,” before picking his feet up mechanically and making them walk over to what he knew to be the bedroom door. 

He looked around and was pained to notice that while he’d seen it briefly on his several nights here practicing, it looked so much softer, so much more inviting in the nighttime. It smelled like Crowley, all of it, and he was sure he was going to lose his mind sleeping in here, alone, knowing Crowley was just outside.

Just as he was closing the door, he swore he heard the quietest, the saddest “Good night, angel,” that he’d ever heard, and his stomach twisted, and his heart ached. The door clicked closed.

\------------

“Hello?” Aziraphale had picked up the ringing phone in his flat, in the middle of cooking something truly horrendous. He loved eating, and he loved fine foods and the artistry required of it, but for the life of him, he never did quite learn how to cook. The smell of smoke was crawling its way up his nose, and he knew the smell would permeate in his clothes, in his hair. Well, at least no one would notice. It was one of Aziraphale’s precious days off, and although normally he’d be spending it with Crowley, as they had grown accustomed to doing in just the few short weeks they’d been practicing together, they hadn’t today. They hadn’t spoken since that morning after, and Crowley had dropped him off quietly, and hadn’t reached over to touch him, hadn't kissed him goodbye, had truly forgotten the entire thing. 

Aziraphale couldn’t forget, though he desperately wanted to. But he would just have to do.

When he’d picked up the shrill telephone, he’d expected it to be Tracy, maybe. She was the only one who ever called. But he could hear a breath on the other end, and no words, and the loud shrill of metal against metal, of machinery.

“Hello?” he repeated, and turned off the heat on the stove to hear a bit better beyond the cacophony of sound on the other end.

“An-Aziraphale?” a tentative voice sounded on the other end. An unmistakable one. 

“Crowley.”

“Y-yes. Hello. H-how are you?”

Aziraphale could already feel the way the simple voice made the heat deep in his bones flare, could feel the flutter of his anxious heart. “Fine. How are you?”

“Yeah, good. Listen, I. I didn’t mean...I didn’t mean to do it again. I’m sorry. But we were..and I thought that maybe, but I-I was wrong, obviously. So.” Aziraphale tried to follow along with Crowley’s train of thoughts but found himself helplessly lost. “Anyway, I was just. Because the competition is tomorrow. Are we...do you still?”

“...Still?” Aziraphale prompted, and hoped that Crowley would stop speaking in those infuriating half-sentences he did, where he assumed everybody was following along when in reality Aziraphale always felt five steps behind. 

“Do you still wanna dance with me? Because it’s okay if you don’t. I mean, I sure would like to. With you. But if you don’t, of course we wouldn’t. Up-up to you.”

He heard the way Crowley pressed the phone closer to his ear, closer to his mouth, could almost feel the hot breath as it traveled down the line. 

“Of course I’ll still dance with you, Crowley. Sure. I was...I was hoping you would call.”

“Oh,” Crowley breathed out harshly. “Sorry, I’m sorry I waited so long. I’ve been busy, I’m at work, but I, I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I mean, about us, you know, the...the thing. The Arrangement, I mean. But, so we’re okay?”

Aziraphale felt a harsh wet sting on his eyes, and remembered what those lips had felt like brushing against his own, the fingers cradling his head, how safe he had felt there. “Of course we’re alright, my dear. Like you said, it’s...forgotten.”

“Right.”

“Should we practice?”

“Oh, I can’t,” Crowley said, voice tinted with regret. “I can’t, I’m sorry, angel. Work is just...I’ve been taking off a lot the last week or so for practicing and now they’re really on my ass and…” the voice drifted off as Crowley pushed the phone far away, and Aziraphale could hear as Crowley barked out something loud and angry. 

The voice came back in a hushed tone, pressed even more tightly against the receiver. “Sorry, they need me to go back. But we already have a song, right? We do that one, we do our routine, we’ve done it loads of times before. We’re ready. It’s gonna be just fine. And we’re gonna win, angel, I promise. We’re gonna win this thing and you’re gonna finally do everything you want to, hm? I promise. I’ll do my best for you. I’ll make it all worth your while, okay? I’ll make it up to you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t speak behind the thick knot in his throat, realizing with the weight of a freight train on his chest that he didn’t want any of those things anymore, he didn’t want to win this thing, he didn’t want the money, he didn’t want any of it, not if Crowley wasn’t there. Not if it meant losing him.

But he’d already lost him anyway. 

He nodded his head, knowing that Crowley couldn’t see him, but hoping that he would know.

“Angel, I’ve gotta go. I’ll see you...I’ll see you tomorrow, then? Wear that...wear that waistcoat we had talked about. And I’ll pick you up, your place at six. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, angel.” It was rushed and quiet, and the harsh click of the phone sent a little stab deep into Aziraphale’s chest.

Tomorrow.

And then that’d be it, no more dinners, no more wedding crashing, no more soft wandering hands and velvet lips.

Tomorrow.

\------------------------------------

The sharp shrill honk that echoed across the neighborhood made Aziraphale’s hands twitch, and he rushed to get that last finicky button fastened on the waistcoat. He peeked out of the window, noticing that black, dreaded car idling outside on the street, and hurried to shrug his very nice coat over that blasted waistcoat. Crowley had bought it for him. Just on a whim. One day, it had been just here, look what I found, thought it might look nice on you. It had been exactly Aziraphale’s size, and it was a spectacular, sparkling golden cream color with the finest detailing all across the edges of it. Aziraphale hadn’t known what to say, and Crowley had just shrugged it off. _Maybe you can wear it for the dance, or whatever. I don’t care._ He had fiddled with the embroidery, and looked up at Crowley with a question in his eyes, knowing this waistcoat alone was probably more expensive than half the furniture in his home. He opened his mouth, and Crowley had beat him to it, with a simple, _Oh, shut up._

Aziraphale had already tied his bowtie to fit perfectly around his neck, and then in a quick, idiotic moment, yanked at one of the ends to make it come undone, hoping desperately that Crowley would do it for him, one last time. He knew it was ridiculous, but he would take what he could get.

He stepped outside, ready for the competition, or at least hoping he was, and walked down the steps and out towards the car in what felt like a death march. He steeled himself as Crowley stepped out of the car, flashing a beaming wide thing of a smile, hand still on the horn, hair styled perfectly and waving gently in the breeze.

“Angel!” he yelled, eyes wide and taking him in. Crowley was almost his old self again, and Aziraphale’s heart clenched with the hope that maybe, maybe, maybe he hadn’t messed this up too bad. Maybe, after everything, they could still be friends. “You look amazing!”

Aziraphale, despite himself and the raging sea of emotions that ebbed and flowed at the sight of his handsome best friend, laughed. “Crowley, stop honking. The neighbors will come chase us for waking them up.”

“It’s six o’clock. We’re not waking anyone up.”

“Well, perhaps they’ve just had a lie-down, I don’t know.”

“Well, I need everyone to know that my best friend and I---” and he slammed a hand down on the horn hard twice, “---are winning the damn competition today. And I want all the pretty ladies to peek out their windows and see how dashing you look. That waistcoat really suits you.” Aziraphale shivered at the full-body appraisal that Crowley was giving him, unashamed now that they were back to being friends, to being _only_ friends. “Ah, always with the tie, Aziraphale.” Before he knew it, Crowley was right in front of him, and the sleek black coat he had one was absolutely hell-sent, Aziraphale knew that deep in his bones, everything about Crowley today must have been sent directly from the devil himself. The temptation of the tight black clothes that hugged Crowley’s body in such a way were so perfectly crafted that Aziraphale had to close his eyes in a sudden panic that he might reach out that he might yank it all off, right here, in the middle of the road. 

His body shuddered violently as he felt long fingers card ever so lightly through the hair on the back of his head, and the fingers pressed into his nape to angle his head up, right into Crowley’s face. It felt like possession, it felt like surrender. He opened his eyes and watched Crowley’s lips move mere inches from his own. 

“Remind me to get you those easy-tie ones someday,” Crowley murmured, one side of his mouth quirking up into a little smile, and his hand moved from the back of Aziraphale’s head and onto his neck, grazing the skin just a little more than necessary as he easily tied the loose fabric into a neat little bow. For one single gleaming moment, Aziraphale thought he might like it if the press of the tie around his neck was instead the press of those long fingers around him, holding him down, having his way with him, mouth working its way down to his collarbone, down to…

_Dear, Lord_ , he was never going to make it out of this competition alive.

“Ready?” Crowley said as he stepped back, running his hand down Aziraphale’s shoulder and reluctantly letting it slip away as he reached for the car door, holding it open for Aziraphale to step in.

\--

The rest of the ride was absolutely torturous. And it was terribly frightening. Aziraphale had been much too caught up in Crowley, in the way his thighs looked stepping on the gas pedal, the way his fingers played with the dials on the radio in his car, the way he couldn’t stop imagining, and imagining, and feeling his cheeks heat up uncontrollably every time, that he didn’t realize: this was it. 

The song was to blame, too. Crowley had left it on something so horribly romantic, it ached. 

_The mere idea of you,_ the voice crooned deep, like a lullaby, like a confession.

_The longing here for you,_

_You never know how slow the moments go_

_Till I’m near to you._

They pulled up to the hall where the competition would be taking place and Aziraphale noticed with a start that there were so many people. It was absolutely crawling with couples here to see the show, with spectators, with a crowd Aziraphale hadn’t been expecting. 

“Oh, God.”

“What?” Crowley turned to him with a start as he put the car into park.

“What if we lose?”

Crowley blinked. “We’re not gonna lose.”

“But what if we lose? What if I make us look stupid, what if I fall and make you look bad, what if---”

“Hey,” Crowley’s fingers tangled with Aziraphale’s currently resting on Aziraphale’s thigh. “We’re going to win, Aziraphale. I’m going to make sure of it. You won’t look stupid, because you always look beautiful and confident and amazing. You’re a good dancer, Aziraphale. It’s gonna be just fine.” Aziraphale let out a thick breath. “And even if we didn’t win, it’d be fine. I’ll make sure that you’ll be just fine, I promise. We’re gonna get you out of that apartment and you’re going to go to school, it’s gonna work out.”

“What?” Aziraphale croaked out.

“Yeah, I’ll just keep working, I’ll take on extra shifts. It’s okay. You’re my friend, of course I’ll be there for you. Always. If-if you’ll have me. But we will win, angel. No one could look at you and be nothing but astonished, mesmerized. You’ll see.”

Aziraphale thought for a very wild moment that he might have swallowed a moth, he could feel it fluttering around in his sternum beating its wings wildly, searching out the light right in front of him, in that red hair, in that sharp smile, in those fond, amber eyes.

He reached forward. He hadn’t meant to. 

Their lips brushed for just a half second before Crowley was pushing forward, almost leaping out of his seat and half crawling into Aziraphale’s lap, hands grasping Aziraphale’s neck and pulling it close, so close. He drew back just as quickly with a gasp and scampered back to his own side of the car, pressed tight against the door.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I keep...please, just, forget it, I---”

“Crowley, please----”

“It’s just, I think I’m in love with you.” He whispered it, and his brows furrowed in confusion, unsure as to who had said that, unsure as to how the words had spilled out of his mouth. He pressed himself tighter to the door, as far away to Aziraphale as possible. His lips were still glistening with spit. “Oh my God. I didn’t mean to...please, Aziraphale, I’m sorry, I---”

Aziraphale snaked a hand out to Crowley’s neck, jumping like that of a startled animal, and was surprised to feel the erratic thunder of a heartbeat there that seemed to want to jump out of its confines of skin and bone. 

“I love you, too, Crowley.”

There was a very sharp silence in the car, and for all of Aziraphale’s anxiety, he couldn’t help but feel like the hopeful handler, and Crowley like the spooked horse. They sat there in the silence for far too long until Crowley let out a shaky breath. “What?”

“I think I love you, too.”

“Oh.”

They watched each other in that silence, and Aziraphale could feel the heartbeat slowly begin to even out, just a bit. 

Crowley cleared his throat, and leaned his body forward, just a hair. “So this is okay?”

“Yes, this is...more than okay.”

Crowley shifted until he was closer to the middle, and waited patiently until Aziraphale moved to match him, meeting him halfway. “We have to talk about this.”

“We do.”

“How long?”

“Long...long enough,” Aziraphale admitted. 

Crowley sighed, and pressed his forehead to Aziraphale’s. “Have we been idiots about all this?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Yes, I think so. Probably...probably my fault, honestly. I wanted to tell you, that night, but I. Well.”

“Yeah.” Crowley said. “No! I mean no. Not your fault. It’s been...well, fair to say we’ve both been idiots, I think.”

Aziraphale closed his eyes, and let the song fill their silence for a bit, that one that Crowley had left on, the bastard.

_I’m living in a kind of daydream,_

_I;m happy as a queen_

_And foolish though it may seem,_

_To me, that’s everything._

“Dear.”

“Mm?”

“I hate to do this, please believe me, I’m...dying to ravage you here and now,” Aziraphale whispered, and watched the satisfying way Crowley’s face heated up. “But we ought to be going, shouldn’t we?” 

Aziraphale’s ears picked up on the sound from within the hall, even from inside the parked car, and felt the moment Crowley did as well.

“Crap, yes, let’s go.” Crowley scrambled away, fixing the lapels of his coat, and turning the car off. He almost opened the door before turning back and pulling Aziraphale into a quick, searing kiss. “For luck.” He smirked. “Ready?”

\--------------

Aziraphale could feel the stares on his back, the way he was holding all the attention in the room, the way Crowley was. He could feel the tight press of Crowley’s palm against his waist, could feel the steady grip of Crowley’s hand against his own. They waited for the music to start, and Aziraphale could feel his heart thundering louder and louder with every second that passed.

And then, he heard it.

A quiet snapping that echoed around the room.

They stepped carefully, gentle at first. 

The voice rang out.

_Never know how much I love you,_

_Never know how much I care._

_When you put your arms around me,_

_I get a fever that’s so hard to bear,_

_You give me fever._

There was a percussion of drums, and Crowley dipped Aziraphale dramatically, and he could feel the way everyone in the room tensed.

He was pulled up sensually, and the room tracked the movements, the steps, the roaming hands.

It was a perfect song for them, and Crowley had looked so pleased when he had found it in a record store and brought it home to Aziraphale one night.

“Look, this one, this is the one,” he’d said surely. And he’d been right; it was just spicy enough to switch up a traditional dance, it was just subdued enough that it carried the spark of Crowley’s typical lindy-hop, the twists and drama, but slow and simmering. It was the exact combination of the two styles, and they blended together in a hypnotizing dance they’d created themselves, a push and pull, a tension, a release.

_You give me fever,_

_When you kiss me,_

_Fever when you hold me tight._

_Fever...in the morning,_

_Fever all through the night._

Aziraphale was pleased to feel the tense of muscles under Crowley’s coat, the way he held his shoulders high and proud, the way Aziraphale had taught him to.

_Sun lights up the daytime,_

_Moon lights up the night._

_I light up when you call my name,_

_And you know I’m gonna treat you right…_

Aziraphale tried to keep in mind the fancy footwork Crowley had taught him, and let his muscle memory take over on what he’d done what felt like a thousand times before. For a long minute, it was just him and Crowley, holding each other tight, depending on each other, and trusting each other, and loving each other, and nobody else mattered.

_They give you fever,_

_When you kiss them,_

_Fever if you live and learn,_

_Fever...till you sizzle,_

_What a lovely way to burn,_

_What a lovely way to burn,_

_What a lovely way to burn._

Aziraphale came to when their noses were near touching, and Crowley was panting quietly into their shared space, and suddenly the room burst into a deafening sound of whoops and cheers and applause. Crowley beamed, and looked like he wanted to kiss Aziraphale on the lips, right there in front of everyone, but instead leaned back and presented Aziraphale to the crowd. The sound grew impossibly louder, and Aziraphale bowed deeply, eventually pulling Crowley down to do the same.

The rest of the dances were a blur. Aziraphale didn’t care to watch, couldn’t find it in himself to care anymore. All he could feel was the elbow he’d wrapped a hand around, the warmth of Crowley pressed into his side, the quiet breathing beside his that soothed his every worry, his every thought. 

“Well, now, what a show, am I right, everyone?” The announcer eventually boomed over the microphone. The crowd cheered with a renewed excitement, and almost drowned out the next words. “Time to pick winners, eh? Every competitor was absolutely stunning out there, may I just say, and every dancer brought something very unique to tonight’s competition. However, we can only have _one_ grand prize winner.” The crowd hushed and whispered. “We had teams from towns all over the region, and we are honored to have you all here. But now, the grand prize winner, the pair that wowed us beyond all, the winners of the ten _thousand_ pounds, ladies and gentlemen.”

Crowley tensed, but leaned down to whisper into Aziraphale’s ear. “It’s fine, no matter what, okay? You were wonderful. We were wonderful.”

Aziraphale smiled, and squeezed Crowley’s arm.

“And finally, the grand prize winners, who as of now have just become ten thousand pounds richer, are...the dashing dancing duo of Mr. Anthony Crowley and Mr. Aziraphale Fell!”

The crowd erupted into raucous applause, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened impossibly, knowing he must have, he must have heard incorrectly, because he..they just…

“Aziraphale!” Crowley was looking at him expectantly and pulling him forward. He laughed with an incredulous sound. “We won!” Aziraphale let himself be pulled forward through the crowds, who clapped them on the back enthusiastically, and made their way to the presenter on the small elevated platform from which he was speaking. 

“Congratulations, you two!” the man shouted over the noise, and wrapped an arm around both of their shoulders, a bright flash blinding Aziraphale as a photo was unexpectedly taken of the three. “We’ll send the money to your address in a week or so. Spend it wisely!”

The man walked away, shaking hands profusely with each of the other dancing couples, assuring them it had been a very difficult decision, that they had been just as lovely, taking pictures with them all. Meanwhile, Aziraphale stared at Crowley in utter disbelief, and Crowley did the same.

“Wow,” Crowley muttered. “I mean, I thought we would win. I was sure of it. But. We won.”

Aziraphale laughed, and then he laughed some more until Crowley joined in and they laughed because they didn’t know what else to do.

“Ah,” Aziraphale finally sighed, his stomach hurting, and his brain fizzing out with adrenaline and happiness and satisfaction and exhaustion and love and love and so much love for this dastardly man. “Now what?”

Crowley cleared his throat, stepping back and offering a hand. “Would you care for a dance?”

Aziraphale thought of all the time they would have, now. He thought tonight would be the last of it, and he’d say goodbye forever, and he’d never hold Crowley ever again, even under the guise of dancing, and he’d go back to his job at his diner, and he’d go back to his sketchy apartment in the dingy neighborhood and he’d be all alone for the rest of it. He thought about all the adventures the two of them could go on now, they could both go to school, they could work anywhere, they could do anything. Ten thousand pounds would go a long, long way. But best of all, he had Crowley now. At the very least, they were friends. And at its best, they both loved each other. Whatever that would mean for Crowley in the future, it was fine by him. Aziraphale was in love, and Crowley was in love, and best of all they were friends now, and they would be for a very long time. And that was all he needed.

“Of course, my dear. You lead.”

The band had started up again, and Aziraphale let [the sound](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8rxktsW-HBc) fade into his consciousness, and he held Crowley close, and he sighed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay but please follow that link at the end, it's a song that's on the playlist but apparently not available in some countries on spotify? I know it isn't available for me, but it is by far my favorite song on the playlist (considering i love them all DEARLY), and i need you all to hear it. here are the songs used in this chapter:
> 
> the very thought of you - nat king cole  
> fever - peggy lee  
> it's a sin - sidney bechet
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH, I'M-----  
> thank you for being so so patient with me, it's been a wacky couple weeks and although it often took me longer than i liked sometimes to get chapters out, you all that were following along were so kind and patient and i appreciate that so much!!! thanks for sticking with me, i put a lot of love and time into this story and i know my co-creator under_a_linden_tree did as well creating the playlist and the cover art. this story is a collaboration of us both, and if you truly enjoyed it you have linden to thank just as much.   
> thank you all for being here, it's been phenomenal and such a treat writing this, i hope you enjoyed it as much as i did!!! love y'all!!! thanks for being here!!! xxxxx


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